DONNA & THE ANGOLA YEARS
by Elszy
Summary: Bodie is visited by a blast from the past. Can he trust the woman who worked as mercenary once?
1. Chapter 1: Prologue

Hi. I've written a lot of Professionals in the past, but never one for FF-net. I really love the Pros, and recently I've found some episodes on youtube, so I could re-connect with them after far too long a time. :-)

So here goes. I'm not a native English speaker, so excuse me for odd sentences, mistakes and typos… Feedback? Yes please!

* * *

DONNA, by Elszy

PROLOGUE

- ANGOLA, AFRICA -

* * *

The world is quiet, oh so quiet. Silent but for the ringing in my ears. I'm on the ground, I feel dirt and tiny gravel particles under my finger tips. The taste of blood is on my lips, mixed with sand and salty sweat. I'm lying sprawled in the middle of the road and I feel more than I hear, that a heavy vehicle is coming my way. It stops somewhere beside me, but I can't see it.

The blast must have deafened me, cos I can't hear a bloody thing. My vision is too blurry to be healthy. My eyes are streaming. The thick black smoke that hangs over the road, finds its way to my lungs and chokes me. I cannot cough. I just don't have the strength. That, or I'm dead.

I think…

I think someone is calling my name.

Everything hurts. I'm hit. Ambushed. My platoon. Where are they? A distinct feeling of pain manifests itself in my lower abdomen and when I move my hand there, I'm shocked to touch soft, fleshy tissue, sausage-like shapes, wet with bodily fluids beyond blood.

My intestines.

'Here!' I hear screaming, although with my very limited reach, I'm not a hundred percent sure.

'Bodie?'

It's more guessing than actually hearing my name being said. A face comes into view, distorted by my stinging eyes, the pain shoving aside a clear view, not to mention any rational thoughts.

Oh gawd… this hurts!

'Bodie! You're still alive. Press this!' A hand, small and warm, grabs mine and pushes a bundle of soft cloth hard against my belly. I gasp and shriek at the pain it causes.

'Come on, come on, come on!' She screams for assistance. 'We must get him out of here. Masouf… come help me!'

Hands under my armpits drag me away unceremoniously. By the time we reach the truck, the pain screams like a pig and drowns out everything else.

I pass out.

* * *

(tbc)


	2. Chapter 2: Thursday

CHAPTER 2. Thursday

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It was a sunny day in May. The air held the promise of the approaching summer. Soon days of sweltering heat, long muddy evenings and mosquitos would come. But not just yet. It wasn't too hot to be outside, and the humidity was still bearable.

Forty-eight year old bar owner Shelley Cattridge polished the mahogany top once more. She had opened the windows and let the pleasant spring air come in. The smell of the roses growing under the window sill made her smile. Yep, this was definitely the best time of year. She was happy that The Black Cat had a terrace, and soon she'd bring the drinks outside where her customers would enjoy the lovely weather, beverages and Shelley's hospitality.

The Black Cat was a small, popular pub, which was mostly Shelley's doing. The place was nice, cosy and had a homey atmosphere to it. The choice in beer sorts was large, she brewed a mean coffee and could conjure up an excellent omelet sandwich too. Shelley took pride in making the place a second home for everyone who came in.

It was early in the afternoon, and apart from two locals who played a game of checkers at the corner table, there were no customers yet. An hour or two, and this place would be packed, man and women stopping for a drink before heading home after a long day's work.

A woman came in, carefully scanning the place before taking a stool at the bar. She was casually clad in faded blue jeans, a white blouse and suede camel jacket. Her hair was short, cut in almost business-like style. She wore little make-up. Shelley instantly knew that she wasn't a local. She could tell it from the way the woman behaved, how she looked around and sat down. There was something about her that struck Shelley. No - it wasn't one thing. It was a mix: she was rather short and not particularly pretty, but there was something in her eyes that made Shelley look twice. Perhaps it was the look of expectancy, or maybe it was the touch of sadness that she seemed to emanate.

'Good afternoon.' Polite. An accent Shelley couldn't quite place.

'Hello, luv. What can I get you?'

'Uhm… coffee would be nice, please.'

'Would you like some apple pie to go with that? Home-made!'

That brought a smile to her face, which seemed to light up the place like a candle in the night all of a sudden. 'That sounds lovely. Yes please.'

'You're not from around, are you?' Shelley asked while cutting off a large piece of pie. She put the coffee and the pie in front of her customer.

The woman tasted it carefully, then licked her lips and nodded approvingly. 'Excellent. Very good. Thanks for suggesting this.'

Shelley smiled appreciatively. 'You here on holiday?' she tried again.

'Uhm… well, yes and no. I'm trying to find someone I met years ago. We worked together for a while, but I lost of track of him.'

'And he's from around here?' Shelley asked.

'I'm not sure. I'm only here for a couple of days and the idea to look him up hit me when I saw someone who reminded me of him. I recall he had family in this part of the country so I thought I'd start here, but it's a long shot.'

'What his name? I know a lot of locals.'

'He goes by the name of Bodie,' said the woman.

Shelley withheld comment. She knew Bodie and Doyle all too well. She liked them, but knew that they were involved in government business or security or police or something like that, and she also knew they didn't like their names to go out to just anyone. Both Bodie as well as Doyle had always been welcome, and they had helped her out on occasions too, so she figured she better be careful in spreading their names.

Then again, this woman hardly looked like she posed a threat.

'Nice guy, tall, slender, handsome, dark hair, blue eyes…' The woman smiled before she took a sip of the steaming hot coffee. 'And a very wicked smile.'

O yeah, that fits Bodie, Shelley thought amused. 'Does ring a bell, vaguely,' she said.

The woman lifted her head at those words. 'It does?'

'Yeah, but I'm not sure. You know what blokes are like,' Shelley said a little too airily. 'They're all dark and handsome and smooth talkers.'

'Tell me about it,' said the woman with a sigh, and then both women sniggered. 'Can I leave a number here? If he does come in, can you ask him to contact me?' From her purse she took a piece of paper and wrote a number down. 'I'll be around till the end of the month.'

She pushed the paper over the bar top towards Shelley. Folded under the paper were thirty pounds, which covered a lot more than coffee and apple pie. Now Shelley did enjoy a good tip, but this was definitely not that.

'Please take it. It's not a bribe or anything,' the woman pleaded, when she saw Shelley's expression. 'It would really mean a lot to me if could talk to him, and since you seem to know a lot of people…'

'Alright,' Shelley said. 'I can't promise anything, but I'll look around.'

'Thanks, that's more than I can hope for,' the woman nodded.

Shelley decided she liked her. 'Is there any particular reason why you want to see him?'

'Yeah, but that's private, sorry,' she answered with a slightly flushed cheeks.

Oooo, Shelley thought, someone's in love. She tried to picture Bodie with this girl and presumed he would be in to her alright. Even if it had been a long time ago.

'Well, it was lovely, but I should get going,' the woman said, dabbing her lips with a napkin, after which she stood up.

'Who can I say?' Shelley asked, trying to find out her name.

She hesitated for a second. 'Donna,' she said eventually. She picked up her purse, nodded gratefully towards Shelley. 'Just tell him Donna was here.'

'Again, I can't promise,' Shelley said quickly.

'I understand,' Donna nodded. Then, tentatively: 'This guy you might know – is he married?'

That made Shelley laugh out loud. 'Bodie? Married? Nah. Never.'

Instantly she knew she had given away too much. But the woman surprised her by saying: 'Thanks for the coffee and the pie.'

She left before Shelley had a chance to say anything more.

'Well, whaddayaknow…' she murmured and picked up the thirty pounds. It was only then that she realised she had not been given a piece of paper, but a photo. She flipped it over and met the image of a boy. It was taken outside. Sunlight fell on dark hair, short and slightly wavy, stirred by the wind. His eyes were sunken deep but shone brightly.

And his smile had Bodie written all over.

'Bodie… you sod,' whispered Shelley, looking a the picture again. 'You're a daddy.'

She pondered on this for a while, before picking up the phone.

* * *

(tbc)


	3. Chapter 3: Friday

Chapter 3. Friday

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'So, Bodie, if – and that's a big IF – the Cow doesn't pin us down here, do you have any plans for the weekend?' Doyle stretched his arms over his head and did this so far, that Bodie could swear he heard the man's muscles protest.

'Nah, not really. It's been weeks since we had a quiet weekend, so I'll settle for some undisturbed sleeping in. There's a boxing fight on telly, I might just sit that one out for a change,' Bodie replied.

'In the presence of…?' Doyle inquired.

'No one at the moment, but you never know who I might come across,' Bodie answered lightly and grinned. He was such a charmer and almost naturally, and automatically attracting women, that Doyle never doubted he'd be sharing his bed with some female company before Saturday was over.

'And you? What are you up to?'

Doyle blew out a mouthful of air. His face crumpled in disdain. 'Family reunion. Bluh!'

'What? You don't like it when the old aunts squeeze your stubbled cheek and tell everyone you were such a cute little nipper?' Bodie teased.

'Ha ha,' Doyle said dryly. 'Aren't you the funny one today.'

'If you don't like it, then why go?' said Bodie, feeding Doyle exactly what the latter one had been thinking all along.

'I promised my nan I'd take her,' he explained with little enthusiasm. 'It's not all that bad, really. I've got some pretty nice cousins, and my nan always happy when she's seen the family. Since I don't visit her that much, seems it's least I can do.'

'Then why are you sulking?'

'I'm not sulking! It's just a hell of a drive, at the far end of Dorset, nan wants to stay the night, so I'll be cooped up in a Bed & Breakfast in some godforsaken place, miles away...'

'Sounds like fun. Check out the local girls, local beer, local pubs...' Bodie tried, but all he got was a grunt from Doyle, who obviously didn't share his idea of fun.

'Maybe something comes up. Perhaps Cowley's got a job for us,' Doyle said almost hopefully.

Bodie looked at him in amusement. 'Cousins, you said? Anyone I should meet?"

'Uh-uh. You stay out of my family, Bodie. I'm not letting you put your Bodie-isms on them,' said Doyle, shaking his head, making the curls dance with the movement.

'What?' Bodie chuckled. 'Bodie-what?'

'Bodie-isms-thingies-whatchamecallit. Stuff that you do.' Doyle yawned and stretched again. 'Where's Cowley, by the way?'

'Bodie-isms?' muttered Bodie below his breath, still clearly unable to give some meaning to what Doyle just said. 'Please enlighten me, Sherlock?'

As if the Scotsman had heard Doyle, he came in, carrying a stack of files in his arms. Bodie took his feet from the table quickly.

'Morning sir,' both the operatives said in unison.

'Morning.' Cowley dropped the files on his desk, right in front of both Bodie and Doyle, but not before scrutinising the place where Bodie's shoes had been a second earlier. 'Divide these between the two of you. Get this paperwork done by the end of the day, and you can leave for the weekend.'

Doyle's eyebrows shot up in surprise, and over Bodie's face spread a grin. The stack of files wasn't that big. A few hours and they'd be good to go?

'Sir?' Despite their well-earned weekend, both men had expected Cowley to come up with some kind of job just before it would start. Even though their boss could hardly deny them time off after all the long hours, a case could just turn up in the blink of an eye. And a free weekend could be revoked just as easily.

'Lord knows you owe me for the desk, Bodie,' Cowley snarled, still a little cross about the valuable table which Bodie and Doyle were supposed to deliver to him, but instead send it flying in pieces through the streets of London. 'So if you don't want me to change your weekend plans, I suggest you get the hell out of here and get this paperwork done. Well? What are you waiting for?'

'Going! Gone!' Doyle said, Bodie grabbed the files, and the men made for the door.

'Stop it, you two.'

'Sir?'

'You forgot some,' Cowley said very slowly, his face a mask of stolidness.

'Sorry, sir.' Bodie took a quick step back, took the files Cowley held in his hands, and tiptoed back to the door. He could hardly keep a grin from his lips.

'Bodie…'

'Sir?'

'You didn't accidentally miss those, did you now?' Again, the cool look, but somewhere, hidden deep behind those blue eyes, was a hint of amusement.

'What? Me leaving files deliberately on your desk? Nah, sir. Never,' said Bodie with the most innocent look he could produce, and left his boss' office quickly.

'You sod,' scoffed Doyle, shaking his head. 'You should know better by now.'

'Can't blame me for trying,' Bodie smiled happily. He was in an excellent mood.

'It's not very much. Stuff that shouldn't have been done a while ago, but that's mainly it,' Doyle said, half looking through the files Bodie shoved into his hands, half looking into the corridor ahead. 'A couple of hours and we're good to go.'

'Sorry sunshine. Seems like you can attend that reunion after all.'

'I guess you can't beat the odds,' Doyle sighed. Rita, the attractive receptionist from downstairs passed them in the hallway and Doyle followed her with his eyes as long as he could.

'Come on, Ray. Do it. Ask her out,' said Bodie. 'Take her with you. Might be a nice weekend after all.'

'What? Take her to the reunion? The hell I won't. Before you know it, everyone will think it's serious,' Doyle said. 'No way, mate.'

He opened the door to a warm, stuffy room and sat down at his desk. He handed Bodie a set of files. 'There you go, you take that part. Blimey, it's hot in here. Get some fresh air in, will ya?'

Bodie nodded and threw open the windows, breathing in the fresh air that immediately streamed in. 'The forecast is good. It's great weather,' he said to no one in particular.

'Hm,' came the soft reply from Doyle, who was already buried in the first case.

'They say Dorset is beautiful this time of year...'

'Hm...'

'Be lovely to go for a stroll… perhaps a row on the Thames…'

'Hm…'

'Or smelling stale scents from old people, helping eighty year old aunties in and out of their chairs, while listening to them reminiscing about you being in nappies…'

'Will you shut up!' Doyle snapped and threw a roll of tape his way.

Bodie laughed while he ducked, and caught the roll before it could fly out the window. 'Touchy…' he murmured and then sat down. He rolled his chair towards the window, and while resting his feet on the sill and letting out a deep sigh, he opened the first file.

* * *

(tbc)


	4. Chapter 4: Donna

Chapter 4. Donna

* * *

Doyle stepped into his Capri. It had been out in the sun nearly the whole day, so inside it was even hotter than it had been in the office. He turned the window down and felt sweat breaking out instantly.

'Enjoy your weekend,' Bodie said, pronouncing every word with a smirk. 'Are you sure you don't want me to come over and do Bodie-isms?'

'Nah. Lots of intelligent people about. That's catching, you know. Might be a lethal dose for you.'

'Raymond Doyle, you're mean when you're grumpy,' Bodie grinned. He stepped back from the car and watched Doyle take off. The Capri was a silver flash for a few seconds until it took the corner and disappeared from view.

Warm, a bit weary but pleased with the idea of time off, Bodie strutted to the Grenada he used for the weekend and drove home calmly. He tried to remember how long ago it had been since his weekend had not been interrupted, but he lost track. Four weeks? Maybe it was even longer.

At home, he opened the windows wide to let the warm, still air out of the room, took a beer from the fridge and sat on his window sill for a while, enjoying the early evening and the cold drink.

Actually, it was kind of strange to sit here like this, without company, or the prospect of it. Doyle would often share his R&R, and if it wasn't Doyle, Bodie would be smooching up a pretty girl and get the action he enjoyed during his time off.

He skimmed through his mail. A few bills and a letter from his sister in Tanzania, which he read with a warm smile around his lips. Even though he had the image of a rough guy, Bodie was actually very gentle, compassionate and very intuitive. Killing, as it happened within CI5, was not something he enjoyed. It came with the job and tore him apart, but it still beat the odds: he'd take out ten thugs if he had to, to protect one innocent person from getting killed. Tomorrow he'd write her back a long letter, but for now… time to relax.

Then he noticed the light on his answering machine blinking. It was hardly ever used, and if it had been running on batteries, he would have thrown the thing away a long time ago. There were very few people who knew his phone number.

He pressed the 'rewind'-button, then pressed 'play'.

_Hya Bodie, sweetheart, it's me, Shelley. Haven't seen you around for a while. You okay? Listen luv, you asked me to call you if there's ever anyone asking questions about you. Well, someone left a number for ya. You come and pick it up one of these days, alright luv? Bye!_

Shelley's voice echoed in Bodie's ears. She didn't sound alarmed, a bit cautious, that was all. That's why Bodie liked her so much. Not one to start panicking, but with good common sense. And she'd call if she thought it was worth mentioning. For a second Bodie stood in thought. He hadn't planned on going out by car, but since he didn't have anything else to do, he might just as well drive up to The Black Cat. It'd be nice to see Shelley again, too.

His finger hovered over the telephone for a second, thinking about giving Doyle a call and ask him to join him at The Black Cat, but then decided against it. Doyle was probably packing and not very amusing company, with the thought of the reunion he had himself lured into.

Not that it really mattered. Bodie managed just fine on his own.

He took a refreshing shower and changed into light linen trousers and a dark blue shirt. This particular set of clothes made him look smart, he knew. And, as Doyle had stated so nicely, he'd probably be picking up a bird anyway, so why not think ahead and put some effort in his appearances? He put on his shoes, and out of habit picked up his gun too. Instead of the arm holster, he stuffed the weapon under his belt, after which he covered it with his shirt. Not that he thought he needed it, but to him it was a natural thing. Bodie didn't leave without clothes, and he didn't leave without a gun. Period.

He would pick up something to eat on the way to The Black Cat. There was great Chinese take-away, not for from Shelley's pub. Since he was going there anyway, he might just kill two birds with one stone.

As he drove through the streets, it suddenly dawned on him that Shelley hadn't spoken of gender. Was he asked to call a _he_ or a _she_?

'Well look who's here!' exclaimed a delighted Shelley as Bodie came walking in. 'You alone, luv? Where's the other half of the circus act?'

Bodie frowned and smiled at the same time. 'You're not related to a mister George Cowley by any chance, are you Shel?'

She smiled back although she couldn't know that years ago, Bodie's boss had spoken practically the same words, when he and Doyle were teamed up and good to go. 'Don't know that one, sweetheart. You look smart today. Plans?'

Again Bodie smiled. 'Doesn't hurt to be prepared,' he said, a cheeky glee in his eyes. 'How's business? It if only half goes the way you look...'

Shelley beamed. 'Aw, that's sweet Bodie. Thanks, luv. You fancy a beer?'

'Yes please.' He took the pint and looked around. The place was buzzing. He spotted familiar faces, people who were probably hardly aware that their features had been taken in long ago by the casually dressed man at the bar. Bodie, by instinct, took in everything he saw and stored it in an imaginary drawer. If asked another day, he would be able to recall nearly everything and everyone around him right now.

'Did you get my message?' Shelley was back from serving other customers.

'I did,' Bodie nodded. 'You've got a telephone number for me?'

'Sure have,' said Shelley, put her hand in the pocket of her apron and took out the snapshot. She put it down in front of him, the image facing down. 'There you are.'

Bodie read the number.

'Familiar?' asked Shelley.

He shook his head. 'Nope. Doesn't ring a bell.'

'Maybe this does,' the bar lady said softly and turned the image over. 'Is that your son, Bodie?'

Completely taken by surprise, Bodie picked up the photo and studied the boy who smiled at the camera.

'He sure looks like you,' Shelley said when Bodie didn't reply. 'Same hair, same eyes, same smile.'

Bodie's confusion was eminent. He had no idea who this boy was, he had never seen him before.

'Come on, Bodie. Surely you see the resemblance too,' Shelley said softly, without even the slightest disapproval in voice. She sounded curious rather than reproachful.

'Who gave you this?' Bodie asked, sounding a wee bit harsher than he intended to. 'A woman, a man?'

The bar lady was slightly startled by Bodie's sudden reaction and hurried to say: 'A woman. Donna. She said her name was Donna.'

What? A stone, harder than a diamond and colder that ice, pierced him in the stomach. 'You talked to her?' he asked.

Shelley nodded. 'For a while. Nice woman.'

'What did she look like?'

'Rather short. Petite. Not very pretty, but a nice face. As someone who cares, d'you know what I mean, Bodie? Dark blonde hair, a bit like my own, but a lot shorter. Brown eyes, I think. She seemed well educated. Spoke with a slight accent.' She paused her resumé when a customer called her for something to drink. 'Hang on minute, I'll be right with you,' she told him.

Bodie had to swallow before he could continue. 'What kind of accent?'

'Dunno, luv. I don't know much about that.'

'Did she say anything else?'

'Not much. Just that she wanted to contact you. If you are that little boy's father, then that's not surprising, is it?' She pointed at the photo Bodie still held in his hand. 'I mean, I'm not saying you are, but well… it's possible. Anyway, I could tell she knew you. Tipped me quite generously too. Say, I did alright in calling you, didn't I?' Shelley suddenly looked a bit anxious, and waved impatiently at the customer who called out again. 'It's not like she's trouble or anything? I'm coming! I'm coming!'

'No, no, you did fine,' Bodie mumbled, not noticing Shelley, the bar or the customers any longer.

Donna.

Could it be…?

No. That was impossible.

Donna was dead, wasn't she?

But…

He didn't know any other Donna's.

Bodie could feel the blood pumping in his ears when Shelley uttered the name, and it was as if he was thrown back in time. The fear, the biting smell by cordite, the billowing smoke, the screaming, the panic, the gunfire echoing over the wide open space, feet drumming on the dry ground, the sand that crept in the tiniest of openings and clogged the weapons, the searing heat, the rat-ta-tat of the machine gun hammering against his shoulder, the captain shouting, the huge explosion that send the truck to pieces…

Angola. The war. The nastiest of all. The Angolan army. The homebred guerilla's. Soldiers, some of them children, spreading death without mercy. Bodie's fingers on the trigger. No hesitation. Dead eyes, staring up. Pain and fatigue fighting him. Donna shouting his name. Screaming again, more screaming. The dead silence before the attack. The air, shimmering with heat over the vast landscape. Bodie's guts between his fingers. The shock. The pain. The cold. The certainty of death.

'Bodie? Bodie, luv, are you alright?' Concerned, Shelley put her warm hand for a brief moment on his arm and with that gentle gesture she brought him back to the present. 'You look like you've seen a ghost.'

'It's… it's alright, I'm fine,' Bodie said, but even to his own ears, his voice had a rasping tone to it. What about the kid? He and Donna had had sex, but… a child? Could that be his? Sure enough, Shelley was right: the boy had his features. What was going on? Why had Donna left him this? A message? If that was his son, was there something wrong with him? But Donna was dead, wasn't she? A zillion possibilities zapped through his mind. It was his son. He had been taken hostage. Donna had given someone orders to find the daddy. Donna was not dead. The boy was dead.

Anything could have happened. Angola was one gruesome kaleidoscope that was only filled with the most horrific images, enlarged and multiplied by the immensity of it.

He quickly took a swig. 'Brought back memories, that's all.'

'Well, nasty as they come, I can tell. You know what - there's a phone in the office in the back. You can use that one, if you like,' she offered him kindly. 'Bit more private.'

Bodie tried to hide his uneasiness and touched her chin with his index finger. 'You're the best, Shelley,' he said fondly, appreciating her gesture. 'Thanks, doll.'

'I'll make sure you won't be disturbed,' she promised him as she pointed to the back. 'Second door on the right. You can lock the door, if you like.'

'Cheers.'

Bodie took the chosen door, turned the lock behind him, saw the telephone sitting on the desk and picked up the receiver. He took a deep breath, and then dialled the number that was written on the back of the photo.

Traces of sweat formed rapidly in his palms. Listening to the phone ringing lasted for hours. In truth, it was answered even before the third ring had died away.

'Hello?'

For a second, Bodie's throat closed up. He would have recognised that voice from a thousands others, for a thousand more years to come.

'Hello, who's there, please?'

'It's me,' he said curtly.

A sharp intake of breath and then: 'Bodie?'

'Yes.'

'We have to talk. It's urgent,' he heard her say.

He hesitated. 'I thought you were dead,' he said slowly.

'I'm not,' she said, stating the obvious, but making it sound like an apology and an explanation in the same sentence. 'We must talk. Where can we meet?'

'Is that kid mine?' Bodie couldn't stop himself from asking.

'Bodie… not over the phone.'

'Answer me!'

'Where can we meet?' she repeated her question, more urgently now.

'Who says I want to meet you?' Bodie replied menacingly. The chill in his voice was enough to make the other one flinch, but her words were steady and spoken clearly.

'Because your life is in danger.'

* * *

(tbc)


	5. Chapter 5: The signal

Chapter 5: The signal

* * *

That was unexpected. Nothing she said could have surprised him more. The Donna he knew, cared very little for the lives of others, unless there was some personal gain in it for her. Again, the image of the boy flashed before his mind's eye.

'Donna… that boy… is he in danger?'

He could hear her releasing her breath. 'For crying out loud, Donna! Is he? Or is _your_ life in danger?'

'I don't know,' she said. 'I… I don't know.' She sounded frightened enough to be honest.

'Talk to me!'

'Not over the phone!' She was as stubborn as he was.

'Alright. I'm coming over and you are going to tell me everything. No tricks.'

She didn't waste any more time. 'There's a theatre, the Miramax in West End. Buy a ticket for tonight's 22.30 Star Wars movie. Take the seat next to the emergency exit on the right hand side.'

'Miramax, 22.30. I'll be there. And Donna?'

'What?'

'No tricks. If I so much as suspect something dodgy…'

She didn't comment. She didn't have to. It was clear that Bodie was serious. The fact that she didn't retort, made him aware that she was serious too.

'Bodie?'

'Hm?' He expected a _thank you._ But it didn't come. She never did the expected.

'Be careful.'

After a hug, thanking Shelley for her help, Bodie left quickly. He still had time left, and needed to check out the Miramax before he would find himself lured into a trap. Years of training had made him cautious, and he wanted to see the entrance, the exits, the escapes routes - in others words: he wanted to know what he could expect.

As he drove in a steady pace to London's West End, his mind ran over all the possibilities. And something else. If there was ever a time he had wanted his colleague, partner and friend to be here, it was now. He could do with the backup, the thought of Doyle watching his back.

But then again, Doyle hardly knew anything about those years. Bodie kept the years in Angola to himself. It was in the past, and he didn't like thinking or talking about it. What was done, was done. So Doyle didn't know about Donna, Bodie had never mentioned her to him. One thing was certain: if Doyle knew the entire story, he would absolutely not let hem go alone. He'd probably call him an idiot for taking the bait, but then again, how much did he know?

Doyle was to be leaving tomorrow. Or was it tonight? Bodie wasn't sure. Maybe he was still at home. He took the RT from the glove compartment and called in HQ. 'HQ, this is 3.7.'

'Good evening 3.7, this is Operations. How can I help you?' It was Suze.

'Suze, can you patch me through to 4.5?'

'One moment. Are you on the job, Bodie? The roster says you're off.'

'I am. But I'm in my car, and I need to speak to 4.5.'

'Hang on. No, I'm sorry. He's not answering the RT. You want me to try and call his home number?'

'Yes please, Suze.'

He slowed down for traffic lights and drummed impatiently on the steering wheel. Even though he had his mind on lots of things, he never took his eyes off the road, traffic and what was around him. He hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary. No tail, or they were extremely good. Two pretty girls in a cabriolet pulled over next to him, and one called: 'Hey gorgeous! Fancy a night on the town?'

They looked hot and Bodie smiled, amused by their eagerness. It was almost regrettable he had other things to do.

'3.7?'

'Come in.'

'4.5 is not answering his phone either.' Too bad. Ray was either outdoors or had already left for Dorset.

'Hm. Thanks Suze.'

'You want me to give it a try later on?' Suze asked.

'Yeah. That would be nice. Suze...,' Bodie hesitated for a second. 'Could you look up something?'

'I can't promise, the files department is closed for tonight, but I can try. What do you need?'

'Information on a D.I. Sparks. Donna Irene. Female, age around thirty-two, might be travelling in from Africa.'

He heard Suze make a note. 'Anything in particular?'

'You think you can find out if she entered the country recently? And where exactly she came from?'

'I'll give it a try. How far back should I go?'

'A week to a month or so, if it's not too much to ask,' Bodie said.

'Not too much to ask?' Suze clacked her tongue. 'It's gonna cost you, Bodie.'

'You find me something, and I'll promise your reward will be worthwhile,' he promised.

'Promises, promises…' she sighed.

The last streaks of pink, salmon and red coloured the evening sky as Bodie parked his car and headed for the cinema. It was a crowded night, lots of people about, all in the mildly exuberant mood that the weather had brought on. Bodie found the Miramax easily and watched it from a distance for a while. Donna was no where in sight. He scanned the perimeter. Again, nothing unusual. No obvious tails. Just groups of happy people, clad in party outfits, chatting and laughing.

He walked around the theatre, and found several emergency exits and sets of fire escapes. They were hidden in the darkness of the building, and led off into dark alleys to the back. Perfect place to hide and wait and jump someone. Bodie looked up and made a rough estimate: it was about twenty feet from the top landing to the ground. Enough to make a man fall to his death.

When he was satisfied with his survey and could memorise the outside by heart, he found himself a quiet place and contacted HQ, but Suze hadn't been able to come up with anything yet. 'Sorry, 3.7,' she said. 'No 4.5, and nothing on your D.I. Sparks. You sure of the name?'

Donna could be using an alias, travel under a different name. 'I'm not sure of anything,' he admitted. 'Perhaps only Donna is right.'

'If I find anything, I'll contact you,' she said. Bodie suspected her efforts would be in vain. He thanked her and then went back to the Miramax.

The cashier of the Miramax was a young man, who looked at him with big eyes. Bodie inconspicuously showed him his CI5-ID. 'A matter of security,' he said by means of introduction. 'Is it possible to open the emergency exits from the outside?'

'Eh… I don't know for sure,' the young man stammered, intimidated by Bodie's directness. 'I should have to ask the manager.'

'Then do so. Please take me to him,' Bodie demanded in a tone that would not accept no for an answer.

The young man nodded quickly. 'Of course,' he said weakly. 'This way.' He shut the cashier's counter and took Bodie inside.

The manager was helpful to the point of subservient when Bodie had dropped the word _security. _'Should I initiate an evacuation procedure?' he asked eagerly, apparently excited that today might happen in reality what he had only seen on the big screen up till now. Bodie let out in inward sigh and shook his head patiently. No, that was not necessary. The manager showed him around as the movie visitors were leaving.

He assured Bodie that the emergency exits could not be opened from the outside. After all, the idea was that people had to be able to get out safely, not get in without paying, he stated. Bodie checked it all to be on the safe side - seems the manager was right. There was an iron bar on the inside of each door that had to be lifted up a few inches, and then pushed down with some force. That caused the door to unlock, and swing open. There were no handles, visible locks or other elements on the outsides of the doors.

Donna could have an accomplice somewhere on the landing, but unless she opened the door, that person wouldn't be able to come in.

'You go back to your office. If I need you, I will call you,' Bodie ordered the manager, who looked somewhat taken aback by being send off, but didn't dare to protest. 'I'll keep an eye on things from this place. You won't notice I'm here,' Bodie cut short whatever objections he might have.

He sat down, at the seat near the emergency exit on the right hand side, exactly as Donna had told him too. He knew what landing would be on the other side of the door, how many steps, how he could get to the ground the fastest way. He was prepared.

Two minutes after the lights went out – not everyone had settled down completely yet, which made it the perfect moment for contact – the emergency door opened soundlessly. Bodie's spot was picked with precision: only from his place he could see how the door was set slightly ajar. Through the tiny opening a small green light flashed up three times.

The signal.

The Angola signal. Three green flashes.

Bodie kept low as he stood up, his gun in hand, and in just a few seconds, squeezed himself through and stepped onto the cast iron landing. He was pretty sure no one in the half-filled hall had noticed him sneaking out.

The door fell shut behind him.

* * *

(tbc)


	6. Chapter 6: Angola waking up

Chapter 6: Angola: waking up

* * *

I don't remember how long I've been here. I just know that I feel like I've attended some magician's show, and that I was the guinea pig who was cut into two, and that the trick failed woefully.

This is, I think, the third time that I wake up, and the first time my head is actually co-operating.

With immense difficulty I can move my right hand, and when I carefully probe my chest, down to my abdomen, my hips, my genitals, and further down to my legs, I find I'm wrapped in bandages more tightly than mummy. My mouth is dryer than sandpaper, something is stuck in my throat. Everything hurts. Burns. When I lift my head to look around and perhaps find out where I am, I'm almost ripped apart by the agony. I groan in pain.

This is bad. Very bad.

'Bodie? Can you hear me?'

It's Donna, grabbing my hand carefully and rubbing it gently.

'If you can hear me, squeeze my fingers,' she says.

I comply.

'You're going to be fine,' she promises me with a smile. 'Doctors have been working on you for hours, but they're confident you'll get through this just fine.'

'… ghhngg…'

I have difficulty talking, which is totally understandable with the tube that's stuck in my throat. I grab for it to pull it out, but she stops me.

'No Bodie. Leave it. You're still on oxygen, you need it. I'll tell the doctor and he'll take it out when he knows you'll be able to breathe properly without aid.'

I feel a panic coming up, I taste bile that seeps past the tube. My tummy is stabbed by knifes, over and over again. Sweat drips into my eyes and stings. Suddenly I'm terrified. What if she isn't telling me the truth and I'll be stuck like this forever? Mummified, needing air from a respirator, unable to talk, to walk, to do anything but lie around and be a vegetable?

'Easy, easy,' she says with her warm and soothing voice, and she caresses my temple with the back of her hand. 'No need to be scared. It's all over. You're perfectly safe here. You just need to rest. I promise, you will be fine. But you need to calm down. Calm down, breathe in… and out… good, sweetheart, much better...'

She stays with me, talks softly, repeats the same comforting words until I relax and soon succumb to sleep.

* * *

(tbc)


	7. Chapter 7: Doyle's evening

Chapter 7. Doyle's evening

* * *

Ray Doyle threw an extra shirt into the hold-all. Even before he was going to get to his nan, he was already fed up. Not because of her - she was nice. Nor Sheila, Jennie and Thad, he liked his cousins. But it would be the way Bodie had said: aunt Muriel and her companion Lilith seizing every opportunity to pinch his cheeks _and _his behind, uncle Bob and aunt Rose being drunk as a skunk, covering him with bad jokes and spittle, uncle Bernard weighing three hundred pounds and leaning on him all the time, the incoherency of the speeches, not the mention the garlic odour that was always present when cousin Trish was in the neighbourhood… And the distance and time it was going to take. He'd be away far too long, while he should be driving his bike. Better weather than this for a ride in the country was hardly possible. And what did he have to do?

'Stop it,' he said angrily. 'You're making it worse on yourself.'

He fetched his toiletries and put the last of his things in the hold-all. That should be sufficient. A quick look on his watch told him it was nearing six thirty. He should get going, he promised his nan he'd be with her in Dindleton around nine. Then, he'd turn in early at her place, and tomorrow they'd leave at dawn for the remaining 200 miles.

The evening sun shone low, Doyle squinted and put his sunglasses. With a pang of regret he thought of his bike. If only…

'For Pete's sake!' he exclaimed, hit the gas and sped off, the Capri leaving streaks of rubber on the tarmac.

But things didn't turn out quite as expected. Upon arriving in the retirement home where his grandmother lived, he learned that she had been taken to the infirmary with acute angina pectoris. 'Ah nan, why did you do that for?' he asked when he saw her, so fragile in the bed she should have not been in. He had inherited her hair: although it was almost snowy white, she still had the springy curls that were the Doyles' trademark.

'I'm sorry, luv,' she said with obvious fatigue. 'I thought it was just a cold. But now look at you! You drove all the way up here! I told them to call you, I told them twice!' Her wrinkled hand, almost beautiful in its age, touched his face gently. Doyle took her hand in his. It was colder than he'd hoped.

'They did, nan, but I had already left. The nurse just told me. It's no bother.'

'But you've been in your car for hours,' she sad with a guilty look on her face. 'All the way from London…'

'Nan…' Doyle interjected, 'don't you worry about that. You just rest and get back on your feet. I'll take you to see the family another time.' He squeezed her hand softly. 'I better go. You should get your beauty sleep.'

'Surely you're not driving back to London tonight?' she asked worriedly. 'You won't be home till two. In the middle of the night! Why don't you kip in the guest room, luv?'

'Excuse me, but it's time,' came a soft, polite voice from the nurse who had seen Doyle in. He had brought Doyle to see his grandmother, but it was after visiting hours and he wasn't supposed to stay long. Since Doyle had travelled so far, he was willing to turn a blind eye, but in fact, visitors had already long gone home, and it was obvious the hospital held quite strictly to the rules. Besides, by the looks of it, Doyle's grandmother was at the end of her tether.

Doyle smiled encouragingly. 'I'll be fine, nan. You heard the man, I have to go. You take it easy now, and make sure you're all pretty and dressed up and ready to leave when I come to pick you up in a couple of weeks, alright?'

She looked so fragile and pale, but for two small reddish spots high on her cheeks. It was indeed time to go, so she could sleep and fight the fever and the fatigue. 'I'm sorry to be such a burden, luv.'

'You're not. It's not your fault you got ill. It happens. To everyone. We Doyles always think we are invincible, I know,' Doyle comforted her, and was glad he saw her smile. He stood up and kissed her feverish forehead. 'Bye nan, you take good care, alright?'

'You keep off them nurses, now, you hear?' she said.

Doyle grinned. 'Get well soon, nan.'

He turned in the doorway to wave at her one more time. She raised her hand, winked and said, her voice feeble but her will strong: 'We _think_ we are invincible?'

Incurable, that's what they were, the Doyle clan. Laughing to himself, he left the hospital. She would be fine, he suddenly knew. It was too bad for her that she'd fallen ill, but she was tough and without a doubt another opportunity would present itself in due time. Then Doyle would give her a royal treat and make up for the lost weekend.

So… what now?

He was hungry and thirsty, and a nap would be nice, but he had no intention of sleeping in his grandmother's guest room. And then wake up in the morning and have half the retirement home on his back? It'd be the afternoon before he would be able to get away from there! Old people could be stickier than molasses, no matter how good their intentions were! Nope. He'd have something to eat, coffee, and then head for London. He would be home by midnight.

And there he would spend his weekend the way he liked it: reading, music, friends, dinner, dancing, going out, sleeping in. With a bit of luck he'd get the big softie to join him!

* * *

(tbc)


	8. Chapter 8: Revelations

Chapter 8: Revelations

* * *

Bodie swivelled so fast that the dark figure on the landing didn't stand a chance. Spinning on his heels, Bodie lashed out, flashed his arm around the neck of the other and squeezed hard. In his other hand he held his gun, and he found the jugular in the same movement. Expecting the worse, he kept the squirming figure between himself and the wall.

Despite the darkness and even before he had finished his surprise attack, he knew it was her. Donna. Instantly he recognised her posture, still as petite as when he'd met her for the first time, her curves as he'd remember them for the rest of his life, her scent, the softness of her hair brushing his face…

She could hardly breathe. 'I'm… alone…' she croaked.

'Are you?' Bodie snapped.

'… yes…' Her voice was hardly audible. '… Bodie…'

He released the tension on his arm and then let her go.

'For crying out loud, you paranoid bastard,' she groaned and coughed.

'Force of habit, knowing you,' Bodie said. He could not see her properly in the darkness on the landing, he wished he could. Had she changed? What did she look like after all these years?

As suddenly as he had overwhelmed her, she stepped forward and kissed him. Bodie was taken aback by it, but didn't push her away. Her warm breath smelled of mint, her lips were soft and gentle, she tasted sweet. Tenderly she touched his cheek with her fingertips, then let go.

'It's good to see you,' she said.

Not often Bodie was thrown between two extremes, but this time he could not make up his mind. Once he had loved Donna with all his heart. Later on, when he learned what she was, he felt nothing but loathing and disgust.

But now, as she stood here, her tiny hand taking his, her face tilted slightly, on tiptoes to plant a tender kiss on his lips, he was at a loss.

'Donna…'

'You must wonder…'

'Donna - who's the kid?'

She didn't answer.

'Donna, you said you wanted to talk to me. Then talk,' he said, hardly able to hide his impatience. 'Who's the boy? Why are you here?'

Donna sat down on the top of the staircase. After a moment's hesitation, Bodie sat down next to her. If there was ever a safe place to talk, this was not a bad one: top floor with a clear vision on the staircase, nothing from above, darkness around, the emergency door closed - and the outside temperature was still pleasant.

'How did you open the door?' Bodie asked, suddenly remembering that he had expected help from someone within the Miramax.

'Physics and some common sense,' Donna said matter-of-factly. 'Leverage on the hinges, two suction cups and a tiny timer… just the ordinary.' She dismissively waved her hand, forcing him to more pressing matters. 'Bodie... Maleh Ngambo is in the country.'

'What?' The blood in Bodie's veins turned cold. Maleh Ngambo, nemesis from his past, the cruelest man he had ever met, was in England? He snarled, fighting the urge to grab her by the throat: 'You brought him here!'

'No!'

'Then you told him where I was!'

'No!' Not a touch of panic in her voice. At all. Just determination, no plea. It was obvious she knew what she was doing. 'I have my resources,' she said, choosing her words carefully. 'He's alive, and he's in London to look you up.'

'And I bet not for a chat and afternoon tea,' Bodie spat. His anger radiated from him like heat from a stove.

'Bodie, I know you don't trust me. But you've got to believe me. He's waiting for you, and he's going to kill you.'

'Where and when?'

Donna shook her head. 'I don't know.'

'Where and when!' Bodie nearly shouted.

But again Donna didn't fold. 'Are you deaf? I don't know. He has a contact in London, a Didier Bouvais. That's spelled B-O-U-V-A-I-S. You find Bouvais, you find Ngambo.' Suddenly she put her hand on his arm. It was warm and though small, she had a surprisingly strong grip. 'Bodie, I've done things I'm not proud of, but you've always been important enough for me to care. You of all people should know.'

'Do you know what the men called you?' Bodie could not hide his dislike. 'They called you the _nursenary_. You tended to wounded soldiers if they paid you for it! Ngambo shot my platoon to pieces, nearly cut me in half, and when you were done patching me up, you took his money and put him back together again! You nursed the son of a bitch as if he was family!'

Donna's face was a mask of containment. 'I'm not here to reminisce on the past.'

'Yeah, that sounds just like you. Never dwell on what's been, never stop the think about the consequences. God forbid you'd actually feel some kind of remorse, and feel guilty about the things you've done!'

'For crying out loud, I'm not here to talk about me! Besides, isn't that the pot calling the kettle black?' She stood up. 'Find this Bouvier character. He'll lead you to Ngambo.'

'Stop.' Bodie got to his feet too. 'Where are you going?'

'Crawl back under the stone I came from,' she snarled. 'Happy?'

'No, not by far,' Bodie said, just as angry. 'Are you leaving the country?'

'Yes.'

'When?'

'As soon as possible.'

'The photo you left me - that boy. Who is he?'

She put her foot on the top step and descended two more. 'He reminded…'

Donna never got to finish her sentence. A shot disturbed the warm air between them, Donna shrieked in pain, another shot sounded, one more, Bodie ducked sideways and to his horror he saw Donna rolling down the forty-two steps uncontrollably. The shots kept echoing around him, there was no telling where they came from. Bodie cursed his choice of clothing: his light trousers stood in out like a lighthouse in the dark of the night. Gun at the ready, he sat in the darkness, his back pressed against the wall, his heart racing, adrenalin pushing his senses to their max. He was a sitting duck. If the shooter had been able to get this far, he must be on one of the buildings on the opposite side, and he must be using a visor. His only advantage was the intensity of the darkness, the shade a tad darker so close to the wall.

But just as sudden as the gunfire had started, it ended, only to be replaced by panicked cries and screaming from down in the street.

'Here!'

'There's somebody shot!'

'It's a woman!'

'Call an ambulance!'

'Call the police!'

Bodie took the stairs three at a time. A few bystanders were gathering around Donna, and one of them knelt to check her out, but Bodie pushed him out of the way. The streetlights were shining on her face now, and she looked, in one word, terrible. Blood was everywhere, she was hit at least two times, perhaps more. Gurgling sounds accompanied every gasp of air, blood splatters were painting her face, and the front side of her shirt was dark, wet and sticky. Both an arm and a leg lay in an odd angle. Her eyes were open in wild fear and pain, her lips parted as she desperately tried to breathe. Bodie's hopes sank when he saw the blood pulsating from the artery in her neck. The man he had shoved aside so unceremoniously, now proffered him a piece of cloth that Bodie pressed as hard as he dared onto the wound. Vaguely Bodie noticed the man offering her first aid and in the back of his mind he felt gratitude for it. If Donna lived through this, the stranger might be the one who had saved her life.

In the distance sirens wailed, the sound approaching rapidly.

'Donna…' Bodie cupped her face with his free hand. 'Baby, hold on. I'm right here, I won't leave you, hold on now, you hear?'

'...o...die…' she pressed the word out.

'Sssh… don't talk, sweetheart. Just look at me and keep breathing. Slowly does it. In… and out… and in… and out…'

It hit Bodie as he warmed her cold face with his hand. Talk about déjà vu. Different place, different time, different angles, but the undertone was charged exactly the same: the battle for life and death had begun.

* * *

(tbc)


	9. Chapter 9: Looking back

Chapter 9. Looking back

* * *

Bodie was pacing up and down the waiting room in St. Martin's Hospital when the doors swung open and George Cowley made his appearance.

'Bodie! Are you alright?' It seemed like the umpteenth time Bodie had heard the old man ask him that, but it felt good to be cared for.

'G'd evening sir,' he said wearily. 'I'm alright.'

'I got your emergency call. Stop wearing out the floor, sit and fill me in on the details,' his boss demanded, sat down himself and pointed to the chair next to him to, but Bodie was too restless to stay seated.

He told Cowley what had happened, how Donna had contacted him and told him about Ngambo, followed by a detailed report on the subsequent shooting. He didn't leave out much, but some of the private details he kept to himself. Perhaps he would have confided in Doyle, who would probably have seen right through him anyway, but not now, not yet, not to the commander. However, there was a sense of consolation to get it off his chest.

'So here you are,' Cowley said in his characteristically slow manner when Bodie had ended his story. 'Your lady friend is critically injured and in surgery right now. This Ngambo… tell me more about him.'

'Nasty piece of work, sir. He was the brains behind the A.L.M, a guerilla group, the Angola Liberation Movement. Up till his arrival they were insignificant and easily scared off, but Maleh Ngambo changed all that. They were small in numbers but once Ngambo took the lead, they got really dangerous. Ngambo taught them the true art of terrorism. Bombing, arson, manslaughter, kidnap, murder… he'd do anything in the name of a free Angola. Pictured himself on the throne, head of state, and rich too. His actions were not restricted to the army or the military - he killed whoever stood in his way. He murdered innocent men, women and children, everyone who uttered a protest or dared to question his motives… Especially by torturing prisoners he got hold of information. Hardly anyone survived his techniques and whoever did would never, ever forget it. No one came out of Ngambo's claws unscathed.'

Bodie fell silent. The clock on the wall ticked, a little bit louder now, so it seemed.

Cowley just nodded. He did see the darkness that clouded Bodie's eyes, and understood that he was granted a rare glimpse into Bodie's past. It left little to his imagination to see that Bodie too must have fallen in the hands of Ngambo once.

Of course it was no secret that Bodie had been a mercenary once, but Cowley knew how much the dark haired agent kept that part of his life to himself. He wasn't sure, but he believed that even Doyle knew very little about it. Cowley was convinced that Bodie would have been a loose cannon if it hadn't been for CI5 and the causes he worked for now. It had brought balance in his life, it had given him a purpose and he reconnected with feelings of justice he thought he had lost over the years. Next to that there was the unlikely friendship with Doyle. From the start Cowley knew it could go one of two ways: either they'd get in each others hair, screw up and leave the squad – perhaps in a casket - or they'd get along very well and form the best team present. To Cowley's pleasure the two men were on good terms from the start and quickly grew into what the older man had hoped them to be: his top team.

'I'll make some phone calls, Bodie,' Cowley said. 'We need guards here, security, in case he tries to finish the job in here.'

Bodie's head shot up. 'Sir?'

'Surely you don't believe that all that gunfire was pointed at you, do you Bodie?' Cowley was genuinely surprised.

'But sir, she said…'

'Aye, you told me. But do you really think a sniper on a roof, with a visor, would have shot her two, three times when he aimed for you? No Bodie… Unless she has your posture - and from what you told me she hasn't - he was aiming for her. There's something going on here, and it doesn't smell of roses.'

Bodie had been so busy with processing what had happened, that he hadn't thought of that. But it did make sense.

'Tell me Bodie. This Ngambo - why would he want to kill you?'

'But… you just said he was after Donna.'

'Just untying the knot, Bodie. See where it begins,' Cowley said.

It took Bodie a deep breath before he began, and when he did, he sounded clinical and distant. 'I had been in Angola for two years when I was leading a platoon to the village of Bamabaweh. Maleh Ngambo had captured one of ours, an American captain named Dennis. Our mission was to set him free. Our intel led us to that village, where he was said to be hiding, and where Dennis was allegedly held. It was big raid, lots of shooting, canon fire, the whole shebang. When I ran into the place where Captain Dennis was held, I suddenly found myself eye to eye with Ngambo. I reacted first - shot him in the leg. Twice. The place came tumbling down just as Ngambo opened fire on me, I was clubbed down by one of the falling beams. The men got me out and when I came to, the platoon had been forced to fall back as the fire power of the A.L.M. turned out to be a lot worse than expected. Captain Dennis was safe.'

'And you?'

'Me too, a hell of a headache and flesh wound, but that was all.'

'Did you see Ngambo again after that?' Cowley asked when Bodie paused, caught up in thoughts.

'Not personally, no. It was said that he lost his left leg because of me. I don't know if that true, though. Anyway, he blew up the convoy I was in. Nearly everyone in my team was killed, only a sergeant named Ted Thistle and me survived. Nearly ripped me apart. I was in hospital for nine weeks. When I was released, I had to recuperate for a long time. During my recovery the militia set up a counter attack, and Ngambo was killed. His death was confirmed by a nurse who knew him personally. After I was finally declared fit for duty, I resigned and came back to England.'

Cowley had been sitting very still when Bodie told him of his past. Cautious, not to disturb his concentration, he had scrutinised his agent, one of the men he felt great warmth for. He reprimanded Bodie often, and although the tone was hard and chastising most of the time, Cowley hoped it to be the father-son sort, for he liked Bodie a lot and protected him from himself more often than Bodie knew. There was gentle soul hidden under that hard shell, and it suited him that he took injustice to the heart the way he did.

'But he's not dead, apparently. And this Bouvais character - does the name ring a bell?' asked Cowley, his Scottish burr giving his words a melodic timbre.

Bodie shook his head. 'No. Never heard that before.' He sighed impatiently and kept looking at the doors that led to the operating theatres.

'And now for number two. Why would Ngambo want to kill miss Sparks?'

Again, it took Bodie effort to talk about it. 'She nursed him for a while. She knew things about him. She was the one who confirmed his death. She lied for him.'

'Mmm. That makes her a liability,' Cowley understood. Then: 'She was his nurse?'

'Yes sir. Donna Sparks was in the war for the money. She was far too good to be a nurse, more like a doctor without the official papers, you understand? But she chose sides for money. Money talks, and Donna wasn't especially deaf to the sound of it.'

'You disapprove,' Cowley concluded.

'Yes. She swore a Hippocratic Oath to help the sick, dying and needy, or whatever the exact content is. Instead, she just took sides of the one who offered her money. The more, the better.'

'And is that worse than being a mercenary soldier?' Cowley said, surprising Bodie with his question.

'The hell it is! Being a mercenary is job, being a nurse is vocation,' Bodie said angrily. 'It's not hers to choose sides! She swore an oath to help any man who needed medical care! A soldier died in my arms because she was in Ngambo's camp, pampering him! While she'd been on our side just a few weeks before that.'

'But you would do the same, wouldn't you? If Ngambo had offered you twice the salary you had when you fought for the militia, wouldn't you think about it too?'

'No! I hated the son of a bitch. He went too far. I would never have taken his money.'

The doors swung open and Cowley's remarks died in his throat. A female doctor, clad in green operating clothes and wearing a bloodied apron, came through. Bodie almost jumped toward her.

'How is she? Miss Sparks?'

'Are you family?' informed the doctor.

'I was with her when she was shot,' Bodie explained, shaking his head. 'I've known her for years.'

'I should speak to the family...,' the doctor began but Bodie interrupted her.

'Both her parents died years ago and she has no other next of kin, ma'am. I'm the closest thing to a family she has.'

The doctor looked at him for an instant, before deciding he was worth while. 'We've done all we can, but she's in critical condition.'

'But she will live, won't she?'

'I'm sorry, but I can't make any promises. We're trying our best,' the doctor said kindly.

'Can I see her? Please?'

'I doubt if you should. She's comatose.' The doctor sounded reluctant, but Bodie looked so determined that she was unable to withstand his looks.

'Just for a minute then,' the doctor agreed, and Bodie followed her. She pointed him to the door, and took a turn to the other side herself. 

Again, a flash from the past resurfaced, but this time it wasn't that long ago. He'd been standing in a similar place, watching Doyle fighting for his life when he was shot. That was a feeling he tried hard not to think of. It made him lose his focus, picturing his friend in the bed, dying.

It wasn't very different now. Donna looked like a rag doll, tubes filled with fluids and wires going in and out her body. Covered in bandages, her leg and arm in a cast, she looked extremely fragile. A respirator was connected to a small oxygen mask. Bodie couldn't remember if he had ever seen her as white as she was now. Her lips were blueish, the tinge on her cheeks almost grey.

She didn't stir when Bodie tenderly ran his finger over a lock of her hair.

Oh babe, he thought sadly. What the hell is going on? Is Ngambo really after me or is it you he wants? God knows you've pissed off half the army. But no one deserved this.

'I'll get him, Donna,' he whispered. 'I'll deal with Maleh Ngambo. You just get well, and when I come back, you and I are going to see the kid.' He kissed her very softly on her cheek and then, feeling down, helpless and confused but above all chillingly angry, he left the IC-ward as quietly as he had come in.

* * *

(tbc)


	10. Chapter 10: Reunited

Chapter 10: Reunited

* * *

Doyle had driven fast on the calm roads, the silver Capri responding smoothly to the slightest movement Doyle controlled it without any effort, a feeling he enjoyed very much. It wasn't as good as the motorbike but still…

The ride was uneventful and thanks to calm traffic, he made his way back home faster than he had anticipated. It was a little after midnight when he arrived at his apartment, yawning unstoppably. Chewing away over 250 miles in one evening had that effect. He'd make himself a cuppa and then go to bed.

But even before he had put down his hold-all, he heard the RT cracking to life in the living room. '4.5, this is Control. Come in, 4.5,' came the crisp voice of the duty officer of the night.

At once, Doyle's senses jumped to full alert. He crossed the few yards in a second, snatched the RT from the shelve and pressed the top button. 'This is 4.5.'

'Where are you, 4.5?'

'At home,' Doyle answered. 'Something wrong?'

'3.7 is in the hospital, Alpha 1 needs you there.'

Doyle felt a stone tumbling down his stomach. 'What? What hospital? What happened?'

'St. Martin's,' said the officer, voice laden with tension. '3.7 was involved in a gunfight, but details are unclear at the moment. Alpha 1 just called to ask for reinforcements in the hospital. We've been trying to contact you all evening.'

_I was out of reach_, Doyle thought wryly,_ because I had the weekend off_. But he didn't say that out loud, dropped everything he didn't need, grabbed the job's necessities in a hurry and headed for the door. 'I'm on my way. Is 3.7 alright?'

'Unknown at this point,' was the reply.

_Blast!_ 'Are there others involved?'

'Apparently there was a shooting in or near a cinema. That's all I currently know, I'm afraid,' said the duty officer. 'Sorry, 4.5.'

'I hear you. 4.5 out,' Doyle snapped, took the stairs three, four at a time and ran to his car. The car tyres screeched in protest as he hit the gas of the silver Capri.

While driving, his mind processed the information again and again, and he quickly came to a conclusion. If Cowley had asked for reinforcements, he expected someone to show up and finish the job. There was nothing to gain in posting extra hands in the hospital if Bod… if a victim was already dead.

So, Bodie was alive, he must be.

But if he was injured, then how bad was it?

Although Bodie was a little younger - everyone always thought Doyle to be the baby, but in fact he was over a year older than Bodie - Doyle regarded his colleague and partner on the job as his big brother. There was a sense of protection about him that Doyle found comforting and that he learned to rely on completely. Being alone, without his partner by his side, made him feel vulnerable and exposed. Bodie was always there to watch his back. The continuous banter between the two of them was a necessity, like a primal need to stay erect in a violent world that brought on enough misery to bring any man down. Bodie's wits and his sense of humour matched his own, and it helped to deal with the work he did. People died, and despite what outsiders might think, it was often difficult to let go. Bodie, though sometimes a bit crude, could display a sense of compassion that was surprising. Doyle had seen his hard and his soft wide. Scratch the chrome layer of the surface of ice Bodie displayed to the outside, and you'd find a very gentle and caring soul. A surprising one too. He could, for example, quote by heart, to everyone's surprise, complete paragraphs from books long forgotten. Bodie was an enigma, even to Doyle, who had been working with him so closely for all these years now.

Finally the entrance of the hospital doomed, and Doyle skidded to a halt in the first available free parking space. Then he ran inside, where a receptionist told him that no person named Bodie had been admitted; however a casualty with shotgun wounds was in theatres on the third floor now, and perhaps he was supposed to meet with the accompanying people there?

Relief gushed over Doyle, as he hurried in the pointed direction. Bodie wasn't shot. It was someone else. Bodie was fine. Bodie was alright. But then… how did the sod get involved in a shooting on a free Friday night, for Christ's sake?

He turned corners, ran through corridors, up the stairs, past waiting rooms and closed doors, again a corner, and then he saw Bodie, standing tall, hands thrust deep in his pockets, shoulders tense, a clear and present air of belligerence about him. Cowley talked to him, but Bodie seemed unwilling to listen. He held his gaze fixed on a spot on the linoleum floor while his body language said it all: he could barely resist the urge to snap at Cowley. As Doyle approached, he heard the Scotsman say: '… use to her. You're too emotionally involved to …'

'Ray?' Bodie raised his eyebrows in surprise, effectively breaking off his boss' words. His relief for seeing Doyle turn up was obvious. 'Aren't you supposed to be…'

'4.5.' A short nod acknowledged Doyle's arrival and cut Bodie's question short. 'Listen to me, Bodie, I haven't finished yet! You drive up to safehouse seven and stay low, until we apprehend Maleh Ngambo. Miss Sparks will be watched around the clock, and her life will be in even bigger danger if you stay here.'

Bodie's jaw tightened. 'Sir, with all due respect, I'm…'

'You're going to do exactly as I say,' Cowley barked. 'I'm not going to loose one of my agents over stubbornness and a misplaced sense of chivalry! Doyle!' He turned on the spot, startling Doyle a little.

'Sir?'

'Take Bodie to safehouse seven. And make sure he stays there. There's a hitman out, and he's got it in for Bodie. After that, you check in with HQ and await my orders. Is that clear?'

'But…'

'Now, get going! Or do you need a written order?!'

For a second, Bodie and Doyle looked at each other, their eyes meeting over Cowley's head. Bodie's eyes were cold and Doyle could tell he was furious and withheld his anger only by pure willpower. 'Come on mate,' Doyle said. 'Let's go.'

Bodie took his hands from his pockets. They were covered in blood, as were his shirt and trousers, Doyle now noticed. 'Just let me get cleaned up a little. Wouldn't want to smear it all over your upholstering,' he said dully, and suddenly looking tired, he turned around in search of the men's room.

'There's one at the end of that corridor, sir,' the nurse behind the desk told him. 'Third door on the right, behind the service lift.'

'I'll be right back,' Bodie grunted and, his lips pressed to a thin line, he left Doyle and Cowley alone.

'What's happened sir?' Doyle asked, to which Cowley told him the outlines of the events of the evening. He ended by asking: 'How much do you know about Bodie's past, Doyle?'

'Not a great deal, sir. He doesn't talk about it often,' Doyle said truthfully.

'No, he doesn't,' Cowley agreed thoughtfully. 'Does either name ring a bell? Maleh Ngambo or Didier Bouvais?'

Doyle mulled over the names, then shook his head and said: 'No.' Seeing the old man thinking about it, he asked: 'Do you know them, sir?'

'Hm. There's a François Bouvais who owns a newspaper stand near Paddington Station,' Cowley said thoughtfully. 'He's lived in Africa.'

'Worth looking into,' Doyle said, to which Cowley immediately raised his finger.

'There will be no looking into until I say so. Is that understood, Doyle?'

Suppressing an irritated sigh, Doyle nodded. 'Yes, sir.'

Both men turned their heads when footsteps sounded and two policemen entered the waiting room, accompanied by Jax.

'Good evening, sir. Hey Ray,' Jax nodded.

'Take Bodie to the safehouse,' Cowley ordered Doyle once again and then turned to give the team instructions.

'Bodie? Are you alright, mate?' Doyle knocked on the door of the locked men's room. Bodie had been upset, that much was clear, and it bothered Doyle. Whenever Bodie had something on his mind, he became quiet and brooding, which could lead to unexpected and not seldom unwanted results.

'Come on, Bodie. You'll have plenty of time to wash it off properly once you're in the safehouse,' Doyle said to the closed door. He stood so close that his curls touched it. He pictured Bodie frantically trying to wash every spot of blood from his hands - like no other Doyle knew how sticky blood could be and how hard it was to get it off. There was also the mental stickiness that was even harder to remove - blood from a friend, a relative, a partner seemed impossible to scrub away. 'Bodie, I'll get you clean clothes once you're settled. You can toss the lot in the bin. Come on, don't let me standing here. The Cow'll chew me out for stalling…'

Silence.

'Bodie? Bodie!' Doyle suddenly knew that Bodie was gone. He was talking to an empty room. He tried the doorknob, but it was firmly locked, so with all his strength he tried to bust the door open. It didn't budge. Bodie had wedged something behind the door, and only after help from Jax and the constable, they managed to get it open.

A small window above a porcelain sink was wide open, the night breeze coming in freely now. Hand and shoe prints were all over the sink, which had been Bodie's step-up.

'Blast! Bodie, you bloody moron!' Doyle cried out angrily, while at the same time he couldn't help admiring the strength and agility it must have taken Bodie to squeeze himself through the window, since it wasn't very big.

'Where is he?' Cowley came barging in, angry up to the roots of his hair. 'I told you to keep an eye on him!' He snarled at Doyle, who looked back a bit sheepishly. Cowley should have seen it coming, and so should Doyle. Bodie was Bodie, after all. Wild horses couldn't drag him to a safehouse while Ngambo was out there.

'Sorry sir,' he said.

'Aye, sorry you are! The bloody idiot is going to get himself killed. Get out, find him, and bring him back!' He turned swiftly to get to the nearest phone but not before shouting: 'So I can kill him myself!'

Three minutes later, the door of small broom closet in the men's room opened and after a careful peek, Bodie stepped out, soundlessly. Rather than risk falling to his death from the third floor or getting in stuck in the too tiny window frame, he'd used the oldest trick in the book.

It worked. He fooled them all.

Quietly, silent as a shadow, Bodie left the hospital through the back entrance and disappeared into the night.

* * *

(tbc)


	11. Chapter 11: Drugged

Chapter 11: Drugged

* * *

There's something going on, I hear noise and screaming from outside. Shots? I'm not sure, I don't trust my ears or my eyes. I've been drugged up to my eyeballs, and it's screwing with my senses. "Bear" Thistle is in the bed across the room and lifts his head weakly. 'Bodie. What's that?' he asks. He's hardly said it word since they put us together in the same room, and I reckon he's just as much out of it as I am. Bear is the only other one in my platoon who survived the attack and he's lost both legs, poor bugger.

'Dunno.' I wish I wasn't so damn tired, I am weak as kitten. Can't even lift my head like Bear for the agony it causes to my abs.

Suddenly people storm the room, almost ramming the door from its hinges. It's a small group, four of five men perhaps, and they're not looking particularly friendly. Donna is with them, she's taking the lead. She begins to snarl orders, points at Bear and snaps. 'Up his dose, 25cc. Do it. Now.'

She comes to my bed.

'Donna, what…' but she interrupts me in a hurried tone. 'Quiet, Bodie,' she snaps, and changes my IV-settings. No, no, no. I feel myself getting drowsily, even more. I don't want this! She's putting me under.

'What are you doing?' I manage to say.

'Taking Ngambo's side,' she hisses. 'Bye Bodie.'

What? Ngambo's side?

Even though I struggle to resist the upcoming sleep, I can't help feeling my eyelids go heavy. It's as if someone is covering me gently with a blanket, and I sink away deeper and deeper into a comfortable feather bed. The pain in my head and my tormented belly is fading rapidly.

She's running over to Ngambo?!

I thought her _nursenary_ days were over. She promised me she'd stay in the army and not go for the money anymore. Donna, no!

My eyes fall shut and I feel my head loll sideways. Five more seconds and I will be gone. A thought strikes me which is so frightening that I tense up. What if she's putting an end to my life? Will I die from an overdose of painkillers and antibiotics? Is this the end?

I'm not sure anymore what is real and what is drug-induced, but I'd swear I can feel her lips touching mine and a whisper that sounds like _Sorry._

The void that follows is dark and quiet for a long, long time.

* * *

(tbc)


	12. Chapter 12: Bodie's findings

Chapter 12: Bodie's findings

* * *

The first thing Bodie did was nick a pair of jeans that hung forgotten from a clothesline behind a house, not far from the hospital. He stuck a twenty pound note under the clothes pin, then he changed in the dark alley behind the house - the light linen trousers, smeared with bloodstains would attract too much attention. Careful not to leaves traces, he didn't dump the trousers too close to the house where he'd taken them, but threw them away in a bin in a nearby park.

It was time to connect to old acquaintances, and it didn't take Bodie more than an hour to find the first lead. Gerry Donnell, one of his most valuable contacts, had come round after some "gentle" persuasion.

'Mr Bodie, I don't know no Bouvier,' Gerry Donnell had said. He was a worm and Bodie disliked him with all his might, but little Gerry had a lot of connections and also a peculiar knack for names. He'd proven his value in the past, so Bodie kept his temper in check.

'Not Bouvier. Bouvais. Didier Bouvais.'

'Bouvais? No sir Mr Bodie, can't say that I have heard that name before. Honestly Mr Bodie, my memory isn't what it used to be,' Gerry said.

'Yeah yeah. You reckon a broken finger or two will help jog it?' Bodie asked coldly.

Gerry understood that Bodie was in a hurry but he knew how to play his hand and he shook his head. 'Honestly Mr Bodie, you know me, don't you? I'd help you if I could, but you see, life isn't cheap and I've just lost me job and all…'

Some people were despicable. 'Gerry…' Bodie's voice was deep with impatience and anger. 'Bouvais. Now.' The chill that seeped through those words, turned Gerry a wee bit more cooperative.

'Well, lemme see…' he said thoughtfully. 'There's a Bouvier who's a bouncer at The Stratego Club, but --'

Bodie grabbed the little man by the collar and pulled him close. 'Don't try to mess with me, Gerry. Talk to me or I'll make sure, you won't even remember your own name when I'm done.'

Gerry suddenly opened like a book of prayers. 'Ah, right Mr Bodie. Of course. I was just getting it all in order, up here you know.' Nervously he tapped the side of his head. 'Ah, now I remember. I haven't heard of Didier but there's a Franky Bouvais. He's name's actually François, but everyone calls him Franky. Owns a newspaper stand, near Paddington Station, south side. Often has a drink in _The Prancing Horse_.'

'What does he look like?'

'Well, you know, my memory…' Gerry began again, but Bodie had enough of the squirming little man.

'Tell me what you know and you won't need liquid food for the rest of your life,' he said icily.

That was the last bit of persuasion Gerry needed and he hurried to say: 'Big man. Lots of ginger hair, more freckles than spots on a Dalmatian.'

Bodie released his grip on Gerry's collar. 'I was never here, you haven't spoken to me. You don't remember the name I asked you about. Don't let me come back to emphasise that. Clear?'

'Yes sir Mr Bodie,' Gerry nodded. 'How about Mr Doyle? If he asks, can I tell him you were here?'

Bodie didn't answer the question and left without another word.

-.-.-

The newspaper stand, a small booth with a metal rack on the frontside, was closed. Of course. Normal people were in their beds this time of night. Bodie thought for a second, then saw a phone booth and got an idea. In the phonebook he looked up the address for _The Prancing Horse_, bit his lower lip when another thought occurred and leafed through the smudgy pages until he found the B. One could always try, right? His index finger ran past the names. And then: bingo! Bouvais, the only Bouvais in the book. The address of the newspaper stand was under the name, but also a second one which Bodie assumed to be Bouvais' home address: 42, Elm Tree Road. That was close to _The Prancing Horse_. Bodie made a mental note of the address and then went into Paddington Station where he took the underground to the designated address.

He sat down in an empty compartment, half noticing the dark tunnels as they shot by. Time to relax, albeit it only for a short while. Even if he tried, he couldn't prevent images of Donna popping up. She had looked so vulnerable, he could still hear her cry of pain and the echoing thuds on the metal staircase as she fell down. The doctor had been quite clear: she was fighting for her life. There was no telling if she would survive.

In Bodie's wallet sat the photo of the little boy, who also came to mind time and time again. If Donna didn't make it, that boy would remain a mystery to Bodie. Shelley had said that the little kid looked like him, she seemed convinced Bodie was the father. If he was, then he had to find the boy but where was he? In England? In Africa? Donna had been all over that continent, it was huge. Basically, even if he had a hint on where to start, he was still at loss about all of this. The boy might be 4, 7 or 10 years old, he might be totally unrecognisable. It might be hoax, a way to alert Bodie's attention. Or it was indeed Donna's son, but not his.

Next: chances that François Bouvais was not connected to Didier at all, was definitely possible. He was putting all his money on one horse, but he also knew that Cowley would come up with the same name and address any moment. He had to act quickly or he would lose his advantage completely.

With a frustrated sigh, he closed his eyes for a second and leaned back in the chair. He wished he had better transport than the tube, but he didn't dare to take the Granada and he had left it in the parking lot of the hospital. Nearly all CI5 cars were bugged to insure the safety of the agents in case of an emergency. Bodie had no intention to put George Cowley on his track by triggering the tracking device accidentally. He had to do with other means of transportation. The tube was fine while it lasted.

Much rather Bodie would have liked to have Doyle next to him, and Cowley on his side at HQ, but he refused to be put away while the others were chasing Ngambo or Bouvais. _I should have confided in Ray_, Bodie thought with a sudden dislike for his own actions. Ray had always been on his side, and had always been loyal, even if Bodie had given him enough reasons to the opposite. Doyle was an ex-copper and of a totally different breed than Bodie, who had been in business Ray didn't approve of. Despite that, Doyle had never reproached him with his past, and he had been more than patient with Bodie on many occasions. Fair enough, Doyle was a hot-head too from time to time, but somehow the two men had found a balance to keep their mutual outbursts in check. When Bodie noticed that Doyle had difficulty taking a step back, he'd pull him away; and when Bodie got too involved, Doyle knew how to put things back in perspective. On very rare occasions, their friendship had been tested to the point of breaking, but whomever tried that came out so much the wiser. There's was no separating them. Despite their many differences, Bodie and Doyle were a tightly-knit team.

Yeah, he definitely missed Doyle, but Bodie had passed the point of no return when he'd taken off from the hospital. He had left his RT in the Granada, and with that, his only means of direct communication.

_You're on your own, mate._

The ride took him a little less than twenty minutes, and when got off, he found himself close to _The Prancing Horse_, but one quick look told him it was closed. It was only a couple of streets to Bouvais' home address and Bodie found it easily.

It was a regular house, built in the early forties, wedged in between a lot of similar ones, with no front garden and a three-step staircase that led to the front door. Lights were on on the ground floor, but it was dark upstairs. Somebody in there was still up and about, he could see shadows behind the net curtains.

Okay, he found the Bouvais house. What now? _Think Bodie, think! Don't screw up._

He got his gun out from under his shirt and moved quietly, keeping away from the street lights, to the house. For a while he just stood there, half hidden behind a car, and observed the place. There was definitely more than one person inside. They weren't calmly enjoying their togetherness, by the looks of it. At least one of the two or three was pacing up and down, and that was the typical behaviour of a troubled mind.

All of sudden the net curtains stirred wildly. Bodie saw a glass shatter when it hit the window. In there, emotions ran high. That could be to his advantage. If they were busy arguing, they'd pay less attention to other things. He could try to get in, overwhelm them…

The front door opened so unexpectedly, that Bodie was only just in time to duck away deep enough to remain unseen. A tall man came out, his ginger hair emphasised like a halo in the light of the hallway for a second. Obviously he seemed far from happy, because he strode off with big steps, anger clearly visible.

Immediately a second man appeared in the doorway, who called out: '_François! Attend! Reviens!_' He descended the three steps to try and catch up with the other. But François sped up and didn't return, and the other man stood for a few seconds indecisively on the pavement, before he went back inside with an angry, dismissive wave of his hand.

Bingo! Bodie felt a short burst of victory. If there was anyone who'd call Franky François, it'd be family, and it stood to reason a brother would address him in his native language. That was Didier Bouvais, and he knew about Ngambo and the shooting.

Bodie released the safety pin from his gun, checked the clip once more and stealth-like sneaked toward the house.

* * *

(tbc)


	13. Chapter 13: To the rescue

Chapter 13: To the rescue

* * *

Cowley was furious. 'Och, the fool! Barging off like that alone!'

Doyle thought it wisest not to respond.

'Come on man, you know him better than I do,' Cowley said, absent-mindedly rubbing his stiff leg, that obviously bothered him again. 'Where's he off to?'

Doyle ignored the traffic lights and drove fast. 'Probably trying to find out about these two characters through his informants,' he said. 'That's what I would do.'

Cowley nodded. 'Agreed. When we get to HQ, I want you to make a list of contacts. I'll have my men check them.'

'But…' Doyle wanted to say that he should get out, find Bodie. He swallowed back his remark, for he knew that Cowley was right. If Bodie wanted to remain unseen, he'd pull it off. Getting a list of informants and spreading them under the CI5-agents would be a lot more efficient. Doyle would never be able to cover enough in a short time.

So he just said: 'Yes sir,' and mulled over Bodie's actions in silence. Bodie was a stupid fool if he thought he could do it on his own. Donna Sparks had been shot by a sharp shooter, not some small time criminal who just had been lucky. It was a deliberate act to take out Miss Sparks, according to Cowley anyway. How did Bodie expect to live through this without backup?

_Oh Bodie, you bloody moron._

When Doyle and Cowley arrived at HQ, Murphy had been able to come up with useful information. The handsome and always calm CI5 agent handed Cowley a few sheets and a photo.

'Sir, Ray,' he nodded by means of greeting, 'I just spoke to Suze. She said Bodie contacted her earlier - that is before the shooting – and he asked if she could find flight information on Miss Sparks. It took a while, but Suze found her name on the passenger's manifest of flight SAA1425 from Johannesburg, she entered the country the 4th of this month. I had Suze check the same airline company for both Bouvais and Ngambo. Nothing on the last one, but Bouvais arrived in London on the next flight. I lifted his passport information from the airline company. That's a recent photo, sir.' He cocked his head toward the picture Cowley studied, before handing it to Doyle. 'He's got family right here in London, sir.'

'Don't tell me - a brother, who owns a newspaper stand near Paddington?' Doyle said, gritting his teeth. He looked at the photo and met with a man in his late thirties, with a remarkable ginger head of hair, lots of freckles, very light blue eyes, blond eyelashes and half of one ear missing.

Murphy was too much of a professional to sound surprised. 'François, a.k.a. Franky. That's the one.' He put his hand up to stop Doyle who made for the door. 'Don't bother, Ray. It's closed, and there's no one inside, I had 7.8 check it ten minutes ago, he was in the neighbourhood. This is what you should look into: 42 Elm Tree Road. That's where François lives.'

Doyle already had his hand on the doorknob and stood with one foot outside the office. 'I bet Bodie's found out the same. Don't know how, but I feel it. Thanks Murph, well done.'

He was away before Cowley had time to tell him what to do, Murphy on his heels. They ran to Doyle's car. 'Bodie's RT was in the Granada,' Murphy told Doyle, as the two men drove as fast as possible through the quiet London streets.

'I figured that much,' Doyle nodded. 'You did okay Murph, finding out about the brother.'

'I just hope Bodie doesn't get there before we do,' Murphy said. 'What do you know about this Ngambo?'

'Nothing. Bodie's never mentioned him before,' Doyle said, yanked at the wheel when the car's back tyres appeared to lose grip on the tarmac and then hit the gas again. Murphy didn't blink. Doyle liked him at lot. Bodie did too. Murphy was one of the most constant factors within CI5 and his easy-going demeanour and sharp mind made him liked and respected. Doyle knew that Murphy was the best stand-in for Bodie while he was the subject of the search, and he trusted him completely.

Yet, it wasn't the same. It was never the same. No one knew him like Bodie, and although Murphy came close, he didn't read Doyle the way Bodie did.

But Murphy would do for now. He had to.

* * *

(tbc)


	14. Chapter 14: Ngambo and Bouvais

Chapter 14 - Ngambo and Bouvais

* * *

Before Bouvais had the chance to close the door behind him, Bodie had leapt forward, overpower him, covered Bouvais' mouth with his hand and pushed his gun hard into Bouvais' neck, right below what was left of one ear. 'One sound, and I'll blow off the other,' he whispered.

Making good use of the man's momentarily confusion, Bodie slammed him hard into the wall, head first. A sickening crack and following blood spatters on the wall told Bodie that Bouvais had broken his nose. The man's knees buckled, his cry muffled by Bodie's hand, but Bodie held him upright. Struggling from the pain and the shock, Bouvais clawed at Bodie's arm, but the CI5 agent just pushed the gun harder into his neck, effectively stopping Bouvais from his writhing. 'Where's Ngambo?' he hissed. 'Point.'

Bouvais tried to shake his head, as if he wanted to tell Bodie to go to hell, but Bodie increased his force, pressing Bouvais harder into the wall. The man's battered face twisted in pain. 'Come on. Give me one good reason not to splatter what little you have left all over the floor.'

Bouvais trembled, blood dripping from his nose. Then, a shaky finger pointed to the door of the living.

'Right. Go.' Bodie twisted Bouvais' arm painfully behind his back and with the man in front of him, he half-dragged, half-pushed Bouvais toward the living. His heart raced in his chest. What he was doing was close to madness, going in alone. He only assumed there'd be two or three people inside because he hadn't seen more shades behind the curtains. But there might be an entire football team in the back of the room, and he never would have noticed.

He tightened his grip on Bouvais even more, then stepped in. The room was warm, stuffed and reeked of old beer, sweat and mould. Faint traces of Chinese take-away still lingered in the well-lit room.

No army awaited him. There was only one man.

Against the far wall sat a heavily obese man in a wheel chair. He was the fattest person Bodie had ever seen. His eyes were little black spots, hidden deep in the folds of his bloated face. He lacked a neck – instead his ears gradually turned into the flesh of his shoulders. Sausage-like fingers with big, flashy rings brought the remains of a Swiss roll to thick moist lips. His entire body was one plump unrecognisable giant heap of flesh, covered in a colourful robe with pretty ethnic motives. Where his left lower leg should be, hung an empty trouser leg. His bare right leg was as thick as a woman's waist, all the toes were missing from his foot. Over his ebony dark face lay a sheet of perspiration, and every breath sounded like a pair of bellows at work, causing the three chins to quiver slightly.

It was, in one word, revolting.

Ngambo.

'Hello Bodie,' he said, his voice deep and with an unexpected jazzy tone to it, then lifted his right hand and without even the slightest hesitation he pulled the trigger of a gun twice. The first shot hit Bouvais right between the eyes. The second shot hit Bodie in the right shoulder. With a cry he slammed back against the wall, the dead weight of Bouvais he still held onto, bringing him down hard. His gun fell from his numb hand and Ngambo fired again, hitting Bouvais. His own hitman became a human shield for Bodie as he sagged to the floor. Then he stopped firing.

'Get up, Bodie,' Ngambo said.

It was almost surreal, watching that fat, practically immobile man sitting there, controlling the scene. Bodie knew it was Ngambo, he recognised the voice and the threat, but otherwise he might have doubted this was the same man he'd faced in Angola so long ago.

'Finally. Always wanted to finish you off in person,' Ngambo continued as Bodie struggled to get to his feet. The pain in his shoulder send stars to his vision. The collar bone must have been broken, for it was impossible to use his right arm. It hung limb, as if it didn't belong to him any longer. He could feel the sleeve of his shirt turning wet alarmingly fast, luke-warm blood running down his arm rapidly. 'You cost me my leg. Now I will take your life.'

'Why did you shoot Donna Sparks?'

Again the throaty sounds. 'Sparks was a nuisance. A louse. A profiteer. She was in my way.'

Body blinked rapidly. Sweat dripped in his eyes. 'Bouvais?'

'Bouvais owed me. I made him do it. Found out about you. Travelled to England by boat. And now, I'll kill you.'

Bodie braced himself. This would be the last he would ever see of the world. A huge bag of fat, blacker than coal, would be etched on his retina. There was not a single shred of doubt in his mind that Ngambo wouldn't pull the trigger. Having spoken more than five sentences was already a lot more than Ngambo usually did. Next to that he was totally unscrupulous. Bodie saw the hand go up a little higher. He could try a last attempt, lunge at him, or sideways but...

Shots rang out, Bodie legs turned to rubber and he hit the floor. Ngambo screamed. The gun that he held, flew from his hand, and with a deep grunt that sounded like rumbling thunder, the fat man looked horror-stricken to his right hand, from which three fingers were now missing and half his wrist seemed eaten away by some kind of terrifying flesh-eating bacteria. Blood sprayed out like a fountain.

'Bodie!' Ray Doyle came running in, his gun still held high.

The final shot wasn't Ngambo's, it was Doyle's. He had taken out Ngambo before the fat man could kill him.

Doyle kneeled down next to Bodie, and assessed the shotgun wound quickly. 'Bodie?' All that blood, that was not good. But Bodie's eyes were open and clear, and the gratitude for his rescue and Doyle turning up, was written all over his face.

'Jabba the Hut shot me,' Bodie muttered. He looked frighteningly pale. 'Think I'm gonna pass out.'

'Not in here you won't,' Doyle promised. 'Come on, on your feet, mate. Get out of this stinking hell hole.'

He carefully pulled his friend up. Murphy was behind them. 'Get outside,' he said with a worried, warm smile for Bodie. 'I'll wrap things up here.'

'You can manage here?'

'He's not going anywhere,' Murphy said stoically. He took his RT from his pocket and called in HQ.

'Thanks Murph,' Doyle said, and Bodie offered him a similar look.

Bodie threw a glance back at Ngambo. The fat man was losing blood fast - Doyle must have hit a major blood vessel. The unearthly sounds he made, brought unexpected and unpleasant memories of the past back to the surface. The torture chamber, Ngambo laughing, Tin Man and Rawenski dying in his arms, Bear's stumps where his legs should have been, his own blood and guts, Donna... 'Get me out of here, Ray,' he moaned. God, he was grateful that it was over. He swayed towards the door, supported by the much more slender Doyle, who could hardly keep him straight.

'What are you wearing?' Doyle asked, tugging at Bodie's borrowed jeans. 'Not your usual style.'

'Shut up Ray,' Bodie mumbled.

Doyle grinned and exchanged looks with Murphy, who grinned back.

And then suddenly...

Just as Murphy picked up a towel for Ngambo to stop the bleeding, the fat man produced another, much smaller gun from beneath his colourful robe. No one had thought of frisking him - everyone assumed that the gun Doyle had so effectively shot from his hand, was the only one.

'Murph!' Doyle screamed out his warning, to which Murphy instantly dove the ground. Doyle's shot hit Ngambo in his many chins, and shattered the fat man's windpipe. The air that escaped from the hole rattled like fire crackers.

'Murph, you okay?'

'Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks Ray,' Murphy said and got up again. 'Didn't see that one coming. Should have frisked him.'

'He could be sitting on an armoury, with all that fat, and we'd never notice. Anyway, you don't need to now. It's over,' Doyle said with a nod. 'Bodie, what d'you want, sunshine?'

Bodie took one shaky step toward Ngambo. 'That's for Donna. And this is where it ends,' he said with all the effort he could muster. 'You're not worth treatment. Doctors. Nurses. They're too good for you.'

Ngambo was unable to speak. His tiny eyes widened when it hit him that he was dying, and as Doyle and Murphy helped Bodie out of the house and into the cool night air, he blew out his last breath.

Ngambo was no more.

* * *

(tbc)


	15. Chapter 15: Sleeping in

Chapter 15: Sleeping in

* * *

Ray Doyle sat asleep in a chair, his legs resting on another, his hand supporting his head. His fingers had gotten entangled in his thick mop of curls. A slight sheet of stubble was covering his chin, which matched his overall crumpled appearance quite nicely. Clearly, Ray Doyle had been here for a while.

In the bed next to Doyle's chair, Bodie had been awake for some time. He was feeling miserable, to put it mildly. His head appeared to be stuffed with cotton balls, something was hammering on his ear drums from the inside out and his throat was dry as sandpaper. And his shoulder - it hurt. His arm was wrapped tightly to his chest, and even he wanted to, he couldn't move it. He wished he could sit up a little and take the tension from his shoulder blade. Thirstily, he licked his lips. He'd kill for a drink. Water.

He had been thinking about what happened ever since he woke up and the memories had come back quickly. Ngambo in the wheel chair, Doyle shooting him, Murphy in the line of fire… it was over. Didier Bouvais was dead. Maleh Ngambo was dead.

He was still alive, thanks to Ray.

'..ay…'

No stirring in the chair next to him.

This wasn't how it was supposed to go, was it? The guy in the chair was the one who should be awake, and have his eyes and ears on stand-by for the guy in the bed. If only his voice would work. '… ay…'

Nothing.

'Oy!'

That came out loud enough, for suddenly Doyle's hand shot aside and Bodie could have sworn he heard his friend's neck snap unpleasantly as the support disappeared from under his head.

'Bodie,' he said, slightly breathlessly. 'You're awake, mate.'

'… thirsty…' Bodie uttered.

Doyle filled a glass with water from a carafe, put a straw in it and offered that to Bodie who drank the cool water greedily.

'Easy, you've just been in surgery. If you drink to much, you'd puke all over the place,' Doyle warned him, but his obvious relief didn't match the stern tone in his voice. 'How are you feeling?'

'Like I've had a night on the town,' Bodie said hoarsely. He tried to push himself up a little. 'But without the fun.'

'Stay down, mate. You've lost a lot of blood,' Doyle gently put a hand on Bodie's uninjured shoulder.

'Don't fuss, mum. I want to sit up,' Bodie said, so Doyle put another pillow behind his back, careful not to make any sudden movements.

'Cheers, mate,' Bodie said, obviously a little more comfortable. 'What's the time?'

'Nine thirty-ish,' Doyle told him after checking his watch and a sturdy rub in his eyes. 'I need a shower and a shave,' he muttered before saying: 'Talk about sleeping in. You've gone around the clock, sunshine.'

'What?'

'It's Monday morning, Bodie. Good morning Doyle,' a familiar Scottish voice said. George Cowley entered the hospital room, carrying a cardboard plate of grapes, that he put down on the table. Bodie was too tired to notice, but Doyle didn't miss it: there as an air of caution about Cowley, which usually meant bad news.

'How are you, Bodie? How's the shoulder?'

'Don't feel a thing, sir,' Bodie answered. He was still pale but not as ghastly as he had been when he'd been brought in. Nevertheless Doyle wondered if sitting up was such a good idea. He seemed exhausted already. Cowley pretended he believed Bodie.

'Good, Bodie. Very good.'

'Everything wrapped up, sir?' Doyle asked.

Cowley nodded. 'Yes, everything's wrapped up. We apprehended François Bouvais, Didier's brother. As far I can tell, he's not involved. He told me his brother send him a letter, a couple of weeks ago, asking if he could stay at François' place for a while, as he had business to attend to in London. Didier and Ngambo turned up and François went to work as usual. Since Ngambo was so big and had trouble using the stairs, François offered him the ground floor. Ngambo didn't leave the house, not once, but Didier was gone most of the time. On the evening of the 15th, when François came home, he caught his brother stashing a rifle in a case. He overheard Ngambo and Didier plan an assassination. François had heard in _The Prancing Horse_ the news that a woman was shot by a sniper, and he quickly put two and two together. They argued, François told them he'd turn a blind eye but he wanted them out by the morning.'

'Must have been when I showed up,' Bodie understood. 'I saw François leave the house. He was angry.'

'That's right, Bodie. It might have just saved his life. I've done some digging. There was a kind of symbiotic relationship between Maleh Ngambo and Didier Bouvais. Apparently Ngambo once saved Bouvais' life. In return, Bouvais did his nasty work for him. It stands to reason that Ngambo wanted both you and Miss Sparks dead for personal reasons. Because of you he lost his leg, and Miss Sparks had been crossing his path too often. The fact that she showed up to warn you must have been the last straw.' Cowley looked at Bodie and Doyle intensively. 'Ngambo was making a bid for the presidency in Angola. From what I've been able to find, I suspect he's killed at least three well-known political adversaries and literally dozens of individuals who were in his way.'

'Another Idi Amin,' Doyle said thoughtfully. 'But the war's over, sir. Is the political climate still that poor?'

'The peace is fragile, and in such circumstances men like Ngambo try to seize power if they can.' There was more on Cowley's mind, Doyle could smell it. Apparently looking for the right words, he rubbed his hands together, then said to Bodie: 'You've behaved like a fool, Bodie. I should kick you out for disobeying my orders.' Despite the words, Cowley's tone of voice was soft, almost gentle.

'Sorry sir,' Bodie said. 'I just couldn't… I knew what a scumbag Ngambo was. Speaking from personal experience.'

'Aye, I know. And I understand, so I'll let you off the hook this time. Bodie… there's something else.' Cowley cleared his throat before continuing.

'Your lady friend, Miss Sparks… she died yesterday morning.'

A silence descended like an invisible veil in the hospital room. From under his eyelashes, Doyle looked at Bodie. His friend pressed his lips together, and whatever colour he had, disappeared completely. In a second, he looked completely drained. The sapphire blue of his eyes grew hazy as he stared up at the ceiling.

'I'm sorry, Bodie.' Cowley's voice was warm and sympathetic.

'Leave, please,' Bodie said bleakly.

'Mate, I'm so sorry.' Doyle put his hand on Bodie's arm.

'Go away,' Bodie said softly and closed his eyes.

Doyle knew his partner far too well to insist on staying. He stood up, stiff to the bone from sleeping in a chair. He couldn't suppress a shiver seeing the pain Bodie was clearly in.

'You get some rest, okay?'

Bodie didn't answer. His eyes were closed, his chest was rising and falling calmly. He might have fallen asleep. He might be pretending. But Doyle read the signs: his friend wanted to be left alone. He didn't ask for it often, but when he did, Doyle knew he had to leave. Bodie would be alright, it was a matter of time, and it would get better once he was back on the job, for it gave him something to hold on to, but for now he wanted to be alone.

'See ya, mate,' he said once more and accompanied by Cowley, he left Bodie's room.

'Nasty business, Doyle,' Cowley said. The two men walked out of the hospital towards their cars. The sun was shining brilliantly, spreading a sense of well-being over town, a promise of better days. It seemed such a shrill contrast to what had happened.

'Sir, I found something in Bodie's stuff,' Doyle said, and took a copy of the snapshot from his pocket. 'The telephone number of the hotel where Donna Sparks stayed, was written on the back.'

Cowley fished his glasses from his breast pocket and studied the photo intently.

'D'you see it, sir? Looks a little Bodie to me,' Doyle said hesitantly.

'He does, doesn't he?' Cowley agreed, talking slowly. 'Has Bodie mentioned this to you?'

'No sir. I only found this picture yesterday, when he was in surgery and I was sorting out his stuff. This was in his wallet.'

'If this child was Miss Sparks' son, and she hasn't told Bodie where he was, we might never find him,' Cowley said thoughtfully. 'I'll do some checking, Doyle. If Bodie has a son, we must do everything we can to find him.'

* * *

(tbc)


	16. Chapter 16: The visitor

Chapter 16 - An unexpected visitor

* * *

Three months had passed since the Ngambo/Bouvais case and Bodie had been given a clean bill of health nearly a month ago, so he was as he always was. Clearly pleased to be teamed up with Doyle again, working on cases with his normal diligence, enjoying the simple pleasures of life: women, good food and drinks, a bit of guitar playing and hard work.

While he was recovering, Cowley had set out a search for the missing child, but since Bodie didn't even know his name or where he was supposed to live, it was very difficult. Cowley had done everything he could to find the boy, but no one had seen the little kid. Even a national broadcast didn't bring any answers. The child simply didn't seem to exist. The case remained unsolved.

Doyle had tried to make Bodie talk about it, but his friend had only said: 'Not now, Ray. Thanks, but no yet.' In fact, it was hardly necessary that Bodie talked about what he lost. Despite Donna's background, it was crystal clear to Doyle that Bodie and Donna were lovers once, and that Bodie had been deeply in love. That everything changed when she took Ngambo's side. That Bodie was really hurt back then. Bodie didn't talk about the boy in the photo. If Doyle began about it, Bodie dismissively waved it away. 'It's over. Don't want to talk about it.' After three tries, Doyle gave up. He was there if and when Bodie was finally up to discuss the matter, but Bodie kept his thoughts to himself.

Time did the rest. The sharp edges of the events disappeared gradually and once the testimonies had been recorded, all the paperwork had been done and the files were stored, the case faded to the background.

-.-.-

On a fine morning in August, Ruth came in the office where she found Doyle and Bodie in exactly the same position as they had been three months ago: Doyle behind his desk, Bodie with his feet on the window sill, both leafing through files. A pleasant August wind came in and stirred the papers on Doyle's desk.

'Hello Ruth,' Doyle greeted her. 'New dress?'

'Good morning Ruth. Don't mind him. He has the sensitivity of a rhino. Nice hair cut, it suits you. You look pretty.'

'Hello Ray, hi Bodie,' Ruth smiled. It was good to see them both around again, funny and humorous as always. 'Bodie, there's a visitor for you downstairs.'

'For me?'

'Yes. A Mister Ted Thistle,' Ruth nodded, checking the name she had written down once more.

'_Bear_?' Bodie nearly fell out of the window. 'He's here?'

'Yes. Are you coming?'

'Yeah, sure.' Bodie jumped up, patted Doyle on the shoulder as he walked by. 'A friend from the past. We served together in Angola.'

'Angola? That's brought a lot of trouble your way recently, if I'm not mistaken,' Doyle said and dropped his file. Had things still not come to an end? He followed Bodie out of the room and down the stairs.

'Well, whaddayaknow,' Bodie said in sheer surprise. 'Bear Thistle. Man, you look good!'

In a wheelchair sat a handsome, broad shouldered man, who accepted Bodie's extended hand with a big smile. Doyle noticed he missed both legs, and remembered Cowley telling him that only one other man of Bodie's former platoon had survived. This must be him.

'This is my partner, Ray Doyle,' Bodie introduced him. 'Ray, this is Ted Thistle. We called him Bear.'

'Most people still do,' Bear said with a modest smile. 'Never really understood why.' Doyle instantly liked him.

'What have you been doing all these years?' Bodie asked, pointing towards the cafeteria to get something to drink. Bear moved his wheelchair in pace with both walking men.

'Remember Youssoen Zaneb?'

'I do. He got killed in the ambush back then,' Bodie said, nodding.

'I married his sister.'

'What? Seriously?'

'Yep. Yasmin is my wife and we've got two girls. Twins. I'm a very happy man,' Bear beamed.

'Zaneb's sister? How did that happen?' Bodie asked, laughing.

'I met her during a memorial service for her brother, and we hit it off. I was pretty lost at the time but she put me back on track again. Since I was of no use to the army anymore, I was discharged with a lot of money to compensate for my handicap. Yasmin made sure I put it to good use: I went back to school and studied law. We married a couple of years later. I'm a barrister now.'

'Amazing. Absolutely brilliant, mate,' Bodie said and Doyle nodded appreciatively.

'I live with my family in Damascus,' Bear went on. 'I've got my own international law firm there. Business is thriving.'

'So I gather,' Bodie said. He could not help feeling great admiration for his former army pal. While Doyle got them some tea, Bodie told him about his whereabouts of the last decade.

'You're a long way from home if you live in Damascus,' Doyle said as he put the tea mug down in front of Bear.

'Family visit,' Bear said. 'And something else: business. I've got a package for you, Bodie.' From a bag that sat on his lap, he took a small parcel in brown wrapping paper. It simply said 'BODIE' on the front. 'It's from Donna Sparks. I received it in the mail in June this year, and it was only recently that I learned about her death. There was a letter in which she asked me to take it to you personally if something happened to her.' He paused. 'She was very specific. You were only to get it if she died.'

Bodie took the parcel from him. Doyle saw a strange shadow over his friend's face.

'You kept in contact after Angola?' Bodie said. His voice sounded a little odd. 'You knew where she was?'

'After she found me, yes, I did. She was a hell of a girl, Bodie. She saved both our lives, you know that, don't you?'

'Bear, she did the runner. She joined sides with Ngambo.'

'For us. She did it for us,' Bear said, clearly surprised by Bodie's bitterness.

'She did?'

'Yes,' Bear said, a wrinkle appearing above his eyebrows. 'Wait a minute… don't tell me you don't know?'

'Don't know what?' Bodie frowned.

Now Bear asked the questions. 'What do you remember from the aftermath of the ambush?'

Bodie shrugged. 'Not much. Vague flashes. The truck upside down, torn apart… Donna trying to keep me awake… ehm… the hospital… the pain… and then those people coming in and drugging you and me. Donna telling me she'd chosen Ngambo's side. Next thing I knew I woke up in a hospital in Rundu, Namibia, not far from the Angolan border. No one could tell me how I ended up outside Angola, but that was were I stayed until I was fit enough again.'

Bear ran a hand through short, dark brown hair. 'Buddy, you don't know half of it.' He took a sip of tea before he slowly told Bodie everything he knew.

'Right, the ambush. Ngambo's men. That's what you remember, that's where I'll begin. Donna got us to a hospital and took care of us. Despite my condition, I was better off and more awake than you. I daresay it's a miracle you survived, Bodie. You were ripped to shreds. If it hadn't been for Donna, you would have died there.'

Bodie sat very still, eyes fixed on Bear. The latter took it as an encouragement to continue.

'You had been out of it for a week or two at least, when you started stirring again. Just as you were waking up, the counter strike was issued. Quite unforeseen Ngambo's men took cover in the hospital, gunning down the entire medical staff in the process. But Ngambo was badly injured, and he needed medical assistance quickly. Talk about shooting yourself in the foot. His men had killed the only two doctors and three nurses in the hospital, and the rest was too poorly trained to treat him properly.

Donna instantly saw the danger _and_ the possibilities. She offered her medical expertise in return for our safety. She knew you'd fight it, so she put you under. You would not allow her to stay behind, sacrifice herself, so she acted quickly. Upped your dose and sedated you. Tried to do the same to me, but I pretended to be drugged enough to not understand what was happening. Donna was given one hour to get us to safety. If we'd still be in the hospital by then, Ngambo would order his men to kill us.

They hauled us into the back of a truck. You were still not out of the woods, so Donna paid the truck driver more than enough to drive to the border and find the nearest hospital in Namibia. You were still unconscious when I was admitted to a mental hospital in Windhoek, the country's capitol. Apart from my missing legs, I was doing fine physically, but I was so shell-shocked that I needed treatment for a long time. By the time I got out and I found out where you'd been all that time, you had left Africa.

And that's it, mate. She took care of Ngambo so you and I could leave.'

When Bear had finished, Bodie looked into the mug of tea as if answers were there to read. How was this possible? Why hadn't she ever told him?

'So she wasn't the _nursenary_ I took her for,' he mumbled.

'No Bodie. She was a very brave, good woman. She did what she had to do to ensure your survival. Our survival.'

It was quiet for a long time, as each man was caught up in his own thoughts. Doyle felt a pang of sympathy for his partner, who looked rather shell-shocked himself right now. He could only imagine what must be going through Bodie at this moment. A person he'd learn to dislike after having loved her once, now turned out to be his guardian angel. How could Bodie ever get to terms with that?

Bear blinked his bright, brown eyes and continued. 'Two years after Angola and my recuperation in Windhoek I met my wife, as I just told you. I began to get back on my feet - no pun intended - thanks to Yasmin. By the time I opened my own small law firm, five years had passed and I had not seen or heard from Donna all that time. I assumed she had either gone missing or she had been killed in the war. Then, one day, she stepped in. She hadn't changed much, aged a few years, as we all had, but her liveliness and her energy were still there. I was genuinely pleased to see her, finally I had the chance to thank her for what she'd done for me. She and my wife got along nicely, and she's visited us on and off since then. Became godmother to the twins. She'd usually stay a week or so and then move on again.

As you can imagine, I was very sad to hear that she passed away. Still seems unbelievable. We will miss her.' He sighed deeply.

Despite the sadness that engulfed Bodie, hope flared up. From what Bear told him, he understood that they had become good friends. Maybe Bear had heard about the boy.

'Bear - did Donna have a kid?'

'A kid? No.'

'Are you sure?' Bodie insisted.

'Bodie, she's been a friend of the family for the past eight years. If she had a child, I think I would have known,' Bear said kindly. His eyebrows went up a little. 'Why are you asking?'

So this was it. Bear's words made an end to endless stream of speculation. Bodie could only assume that Donna had used a picture of a boy that looked a bit like him, to get his attention. For all the good it did - it had worked. He had listened to her call, and he had come out of it alive.

Suddenly he felt tired and fed-up. He rested his head in his hands, fighting to get his feelings under control. Everything that he believed Donna to be was wrong. She was not a person who sold her soul for money, on the contrary. She had sacrificed herself. She had died without the merits of her good name. The secret about the boy she had taken with her into the grave. Bodie would never be able to express how he felt now that he knew the truth.

'Mate, are you okay?' Doyle asked worriedly and put a hand on Bodie's shoulder. It was warm and firm, comforting as always. 'Why don't you go home? You and Bear catch up on some old times, perhaps? I'll tell Father what happened.'

'Cheers Ray,' Bodie replied, his mind a thousand miles away.

Bear rolled his chair back a little. 'As tempting as that sounds and I'd like to stay, I have to leave. My ride is outside.' From his pocket he took a card. 'Here's my card, Bodie. I'll be back in Damascus next Friday. Call me. Take a flight there, meet my wife and children and let me show you how beautiful Syria is.'

He shook hands with Bodie and Doyle and after the mutual promise to keep in contact, the two agents escorted Bear outside. He got into a minivan and after a last wave, Ted "Bear" Thistle drove out of sight.

'That's a lot to process in one day,' Doyle said.

'Yeah.' Bodie still held the parcel Bear had given him.

'You're gonna unpack that?' Doyle asked.

'Guess so,' Bodie said. He made no attempts to open it.

'You wanna be alone?' Doyle tried again. Bodie's troubled face hurt him.

At first Bodie didn't answer. Then, after a long pause, he sighed. 'No sunshine. I don't want to be alone.' And with those words, he tore off the paper rapidly.

It contained a little metal casing. Inside sat a tape.

* * *

(tbc)


	17. Chapter 17: Andy

Chapter 17 - Andy

* * *

_My dear, sweet Bodie,_

_By the time this tape reaches you I am probably, no – most likely dead. I had it coming, I knew. I've lived on the edge all my life, it was a matter of time before it would come back to me. Tomorrow I will meet you for the first time in over a decade, and the mere thought of it makes me want to sing and jump for joy. _

_I hope I will have been able to tell you everything, but chances are things don't work out that way. Ngambo will not rest until he's found both me and you, and he's using Bouvais to do it for him. Perhaps you've already heard what I'm about to tell you, but in case you haven't - here it is._

_About Angola. Getting you and Bear to safety was good, probably the best thing I've ever done for anyone. Getting into Ngambo's camp was bad, but since I was the only one with a medical background, he let me live. He could have killed me once I had patched him up, but I guess I came in handy. He was pretty badly messed up, and while the infections lasted, he couldn't dispose of me._

_He had diabetes. That made him ill again and again, but it was the one thing that kept me alive. I was the only one who could see if he had a hypo or a hyper and act accordingly. You can't image how often I've been on the verge of administering him the wrong medicine or dose, but I daren't. Not while Didier Bouvais was there and watched my every move. As long as I didn't know for sure that you and Bear were alright and safe outside Angola, I had to stay and pretend I was on their side. What I had going for me was my reputation of being greedy. The nursenary-thing, you know. They bought it._

_I was about three weeks in Ngambo's camp when I found out I was carrying a child. My periods had always been irregular, and I had not paid much attention to it, but by the time I was growing a tummy, I began to suspect something. A rough estimate: I think I was about four and half to five months pregnant. I know the question must be burning on your lips, Bodie. Was it yours?_

_I honestly don't know. I'm pious nor devout, I slept around, shared my bed with different men. I like to think it was yours. Of course, Ngambo saw it too. As long as I kept to the story that the father had died during the ambush, I was safe. Well, safe… Safe until Andy was born. He was beautiful. Sparkling, dark blue eyes, wavy dark hair and the cutest little pout. He was the sunshine of my life. _

_The tables turned. Ngambo threatened to kill Andy if I made a run for it. I stayed in his camp for over eighteen months, watched Andy grow up and earned a strange kind of respect amongst Ngambo's men, who regarded me as some sort of doctor-Shaman figure. After all, I was the only one who was able to revive Ngambo after one of his seizures. And I could fairly accurately see them coming too._

_That specific respect in the end allowed me to escape. One night, I drugged both Ngambo and Bouvais, who had finally eased down a bit because they thought I would never escape with Andy who'd slow me down. They got sloppy and I made my move at the right moment. I got Andy and my money and whatever I could carry in a hold-all and boarded a tiny airplane that flew me to safety in Ghana. I was free at last. _

_I tried to find you, but you seemed to have vanished of the face of the earth. I wanted you to meet the child whom I honestly believed to be yours. He was a funny, quick, intelligent and strong little boy. _

_Bodie…_

_He was four years old and playing outside when was bitten by a snake. One moment he was up and running, and the next moment he was gone. He died in my arms. He was too young and his body too small to stand a chance. Snake venom kills, and it kills quickly. When I lost Andy, my world collapsed._

_Strange, as I hear myself say these words, I sound distant. But let me tell you - there's nothing, nothing in the world as bitter as losing your own child. I've come to terms with it, I can handle it. But there isn't a day that I don't think about him at least once._

_A few months after Andy's death - I had been travelling the world in search of a purpose - I stumbled upon an article about Ted Thistle. Bear! I was so proud of him when I read that he got an honorary degree in law! I decided to visit him and flew to Damascus. It was nice get-together. His world had changed a lot and all for the better. Yasmin, his wife, who's a real sweetheart by the way, was definitely the best thing that had happened to him in a long time. _

_Inspired by Bear's success and his ability to shake the past, I decided to leave Africa for good and I went to work in the slums of Calcutta for a number of years. From time to time I visited Bear and his wife. Never told him about Andy. It was too fresh when I met him for the first time, and after that, it seemed like a different life. To the outside world my days in Africa were closed. I never talked about it anymore._

_Back to you. I asked Bear, but he didn't know if you were alive or dead. He wasn't sure you had survived the trip to Rundu in the first place, and I blamed myself for it. You shouldn't have been moved, I should have talked Ngambo into letting you stay at the hospital to recover. That was idle, I know now. Ngambo would have let you recuperate first, and then kill you slowly once you were fit enough to feel the pain he'd inflict on you. I assumed you were dead, when purely by chance, I met the pilot who'd brought me to Ghana so long ago._

_To make a long story short: he had his contacts and told me that Ngambo and Bouvais planned on killing you. They had learned that you were alive and well and living in London, England. That was when I found a goal in my life again. If I could warn the man I never stopped loving, the man I hoped was the father of my child and if I could prevent the assassination from happening, then I'd go for it. Even if it meant I could get killed._

_My sweet Bodie, if you read this, it's happened. I died. You, by all likelihood, haven't. I wish you could have seen Andy. He was like you. If it's any consolation: I'm sure you would have made a great dad. I hope you got the photograph. Take good care of it. There aren't that many of Andy._

_I embrace you with all my love,_

_Donna_

-.-.-.-

It was quiet for a long time in Bodie's car. Doyle didn't want to break the silence first and Bodie was so caught up in everything he just heard that nothing disturbed the still, warm air. A fly was buzzing drowsily against the window, in vain trying to get out. Two pretty mothers, pushing prams and chatting away happily, passed the Capri, unaware of the two men who sat quietly in the car, listening to the voice on the tape. Sunlight caught their hair. They looked young, thrilled and curious to what the future had in store for them and their children. One of the little kids playfully raised its legs. Two tiny, bright red shoes trampled little holes in the air. The women laughed.

'Would you like to have children, Ray?' Bodie asked softly.

Doyle had expected a lot, but not that. He raised his eyebrows, opened his eyes widely and then nodded. 'Yes, I think I do. Not at the moment, but if I come across the right girl, I'd like to have a family.'

Doyle waited for Bodie to give him his thoughts on the matter. He awaited _Yeah, me too_ or _Nah, not my cup of tea, _but that didn't come_._

Bodie squeezed the bridge of his nose and after again a long pause he said: 'I'm not cut out for a family, Ray. Every time I meet someone worth while, I screw up. Donna… Marikka… they were the real thing, I loved them, they loved me and then I lost them. How can I raise an entire family when I can't even hold on to one girl?' The last words came out faster and a little louder. Doyle recognised his partner's frustration. With Bodie, things were never skin deep. Once again, these words emphasised Bodie's heart's desire to be part of a normal society. In the end, all that Bodie – and he himself for that matter – wanted was a warm home. Family and friends to share a good life with.

'Bodie, mate - I don't know,' he said earnestly. 'What are we but civil servants? We don't work regular hours, but neither do doctors, and they have families. Maybe we're kidding ourselves, but I think we have just as much chance as meeting the right girl as any other man. We've just not come across them yet.' He scratched his head, his hair automatically curling around his fingers. 'Or maybe we have, but the timing was bad.'

'Bad timing?'

'Yeah. Perhaps.'

Bodie kept quiet. Doyle wanted to help him shake the impasse. 'Bodie, you can't force these things. Nature has a way of telling us.'

'I thought you believed God did.'

'That's not what you believe. Call it what you want. What it comes down to is that it starts with us. If you give up hope, you'll never find it.'

Bodie nodded silently.

'You fancy a drink? It's getting pretty hot in here. Beer's on me.'

Bodie took the tape from the radio and put it in his pocket. His was still shaken, and slowly shook his head. 'I don't know Ray. I'm tired. I'd like to go home.'

'Okay mate,' Doyle said. 'Whatever you say. If you need to nag, you call me.'

'I don't nag.'

'Yes you do, sunshine. But I won't mind this time. Now, will you drive before we get cooked alive in this bloody tin can?'

'Now who's nagging?' mumbled Bodie as he started the car. He looked over his shoulder to check the traffic, but before he moved, he faced Doyle and smiled feebly. 'Cheers, mate.'

'You're welcome, sunshine,' Doyle said, returning the smile.

'Alright, you can buy me a beer.'

.-.-.

The End

* * *

This is where it ends, dear Pros-fans. Writing about the Lads renewed my love and sympathy for the two again. Thanks to everyone who encouraged me by reviewing or sending me a message! As for me… I'm a Bodie-babe (really? No! You could have fooled me.) However I wouldn't object to being called a Doyle-Doll either. In other words: it's the togetherness of the team that make the individuals special. I hope I've been able to capture that in my story, and that you have had good times reading it.

Elszy.


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